Sake 


PARKMAN 

THE 
OREGON  TRAIl 

MACDONALD 


Hake  lEngi 


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Hafee  Cngltsf)  Classics 


THE 
OREGON  TRAIL 


SKETCHES  OF  PRAIRIE  AND 
ROCKY    MOUNTAIN   LIFE 


BY 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN 


EDITED   FOR   SCHOOL  USE 

BY 

WILLIAM    MAC  DONALD 

PROFESSOR  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY  IN  BROWN  UNIVERSITY 


SCOTT,  FORESMAN  AND  COMPANY 
CHICAGO  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1911 
BY  SCOTT,  FORESMAN  AND  COMPANY 


PREFACE 

The  text  here  used  is  that  of  the  first  edition,  but  with 
modernized  spelling  and  punctuation.  The  spelling  of  Indian 
proper  names  has  been  changed,  where  necessary,  to  con- 
form to  the  present  usage ;  and  the  form  Deslauriers  has  been 
substituted  for  the  old  form  Delorier.  The  poetical  extracts 
which  preceded  the  several  chapters,  and  two  or  three  unsuit- 
able passages  in  the  text,  have  been  omitted.  With  these 
exceptions,  the  original  text  has  been  followed  exactly.  The 
notes  are  limited  to  the  explanation  of  difficulties  not  easily 
to  be  resolved  by  the  aid  of  a  dictionary  or  encyclopaedia. 

Brown    University, 
January,   1911. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE  5 

INTRODUCTION  9 

BIBLIOGRAPHY   18 

AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 19 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     THE  FRONTIER 20 

II.     BREAKING  THE  ICE 29 

III.  FORT  LEAVENWORTH 40 

IV.  "JUMPING  OFF" 44 

V.     THE  "BiG  BLUE" 55 

VI.  THE  PLATTE  AND  THE  DESERT 74 

VII.  THE  BUFFALO 88 

VIII.  TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE 105 

IX.  SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  . . 122 

X.  THE  WAR  PARTIES 138 

XL  SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP 161 

XII.  ILL  LUCK * 182 

XIII.  HUNTING  INDIANS 190 

XIV.  THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE 215 

XV.  THE  HUNTING  CAMP 236 

XVI.     THE  TRAPPERS 260 

XVII.     THE  BLACK  HILLS.  .  .270 


8 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.  A  MOUNTAIN  HUNT 275 

XIX.  PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 287 

XX.  THE  LONELY  JOURNEY 305 

XXI.  THE  PUEBLO  AND  BENT'S  FORT 327 

XXII.     TETE  ROUGE,  THE  VOLUNTEER 335 

XXIII.  INDIAN  ALARMS 340 

XXIV.  THE  CHASE 352 

XXV.     THE  BUFFALO  CAMP 362 

XXVI.     DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS 378 

XXVII.  THE  SETTLEMENTS.  .                                     .396 


INTRODUCTION 

Francis  Parkman  was  born  in  Boston,  September  16, 
1823.  He  was  of  English  ancestry,  and  on  his  mother's 
side  could  trace  his  descent  from  John  Cotton,  the  famous 
Puritan  divine,  who  came  to  Massachusetts  in  1633.  His 
father  was  a  well-known  and  highly  respected  Unitarian 
minister. 

When  he  was  eight  years  old  the  boy  went  to  live  with 
his  grandfather  on  the  border  of  Middlesex  Fells,  a  wild 
tract  of  broken,  picturesque  country,  about  four  thousand 
acres  in  extent,  near  Boston.  Here  for  four  years  he  was 
able  to  gratify  the  love  for  outdoor  life  which  seems  to  have 
been  inherent  with  him,  and  which  later  was  to  be  shown  so 
markedly  in  his  books.  He  prepared  for  Harvard  College 
at  a  private  school  in  Boston,  and  graduated  in  1844,  after 
a  creditable  but  not  brilliant  course.  For  the  next  two  years 
he  was  a  student  at  the  Harvard  Law  School,  but  he  had 
no  taste  for  the  law,  and  never  practiced. 

Before  the  end  of  his  sophomore  year  in  college  Parkman 
had  definitely  formed  a  plan  of  writing  the  history  of  the 
French  in  America;  and  to  the  execution  of  this  great  task, 
the  performance  of  which  he  estimated  would  take  twenty 
years,  his  thought  and  energy  were  henceforth  mainly  bent. 
All  the  books  on  the  subject  to  which  he  could  get  access 
were  eagerly  read.  One  of  his  summer  vacations  was  spent 
in  exploring  the  headwaters  of  the  Magalloway  river  in 
Maine;  another  was  passed  in  the  region  of  Lake  George 
and  Lake  Champlain,  where  he  studied  the  topography  of 
the  country,  examined  battle-fields  of  the  French  and  Indian 
wars,  and  gathered  stories  and  traditions  from  old  settlers. 


10  '  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

A  slight  accident,  necessitating  a  brief  interruption  of  college 
studies,  became  also  the  occasion  ot  his  first  trip  to  Europe. 

The  journey  which  forms  the  subject  of  the  Oregon  Trail 
was  made  immediately  upon  the  completion  of  his  law 
studies.  He  had  already,  the  previous  year,  visited  what 
was  then  "the  West,"  going  as  far  south  as  St.  Louis  and 
as  far  north  as  Mackinaw  and  Sault  St.  Marie,  besides  visit-' 
ing  Niagara,  Detroit,  and  other  places  associated  with  the 
early  French  occupation.  What  he  needed,  however,  as  the 
foundation  of  his  great  historical  undertaking,  was  an  inti- 
mate and  first-hand  acquaintance  with  Indian  life;  and  such 
acquaintance  was  to  be  had  in  that  day,  by  any  one  who  had 
the  courage  to  seek  it,  in  almost  any  part  of  the  country 
west  of  the  Mississippi. 

In  order  to  understand  Parkman's  journey  and  its  sig- 
nificance, it  is  necessary  to  recall  the  geography  of  the  coun- 
try in  1846.  The  western  boundary  of  the  United  States 
was  still  the  western  limit  of  the  Louisiana  purchase  of  1803, 
namely,  the  summit  or  watershed  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
The  northern  boundary,  the  forty-ninth  parallel,  as  far  as 
the  Rockies,  had  been  fixed  by  treaty  with  Great  Britain 
only  as  late  as  1842;  while  the  treaty  of  1846,  extending 
the  same  line  westward  and  confirming  the  claim  of  the 
United  States  to  Oregon,  was  not  signed  until  June  15, 
at  which  time  Parkman  and  his  companions  were  on  their 
way.  War  with  Mexico,  which  was  to  carry  the  boundary 
of  the  United  States  to  the  Pacific,  was  declared  on  May  13 
of  the  same  year. 

North  and  west  of  Missouri  and  Iowa,  none  of  the  states 
which  now  occupy  this  great  region  had  yet  been  formed. 
The  Territory  of  Wisconsin,  organized  in  1836,  included 
within  its  limits  most  of  the  country  between  the  Great  Lakes 
and  the  Missouri  river,  north  of  Iowa;  and  Iowa  had  been 
admitted  as  a  state  only  about  a  year  before  Parkman 's 
journey  began.  With  the  exception  of  Indian  traders,  mis- 


INTRODUCTION  n 

sionaries,  and  soldiers,  there  were  no  white  inhabitants,  for 
no  part  of  the  country  had  as  yet  been  opened  to  settlement. 
From  what  is  now  Oklahoma  to  the  British  possessions, 
tribes  of  savage  Indians  roamed  at  will,  hunting  the  buffalo 
and  antelope  that  were  to  be  found  in  countless  multitudes 
on  the  prairies,  fighting  bloody  battles  with  one  another  as 
their  ancestors  had  done  for  generations,  and  kept  in  nominal 
subjection  only  by  United  States  troops.  The  fertility  of 
the  soil  was  hardly  dreamed  of,  and  much  of  the  country 
where  agriculture  and  cattle-raising  now  flourish  appears  on 
maps  of  the  time  as  the  " Great  American  Desert." 

From  the  Missouri  river  two  great  overland  routes  gave 
access  to  the  interior  and  to  the  Pacific.  One,  the  Santa  Fe 
trail,  followed  a  fairly  direct  course  from  Independence, 
Missouri,  at  the  junction  of  the  Kansas  and  Missouri  rivers, 
to  the  neighborhood  of  Dodge  City,  Kansas;  there  it  divided, 
one  branch  continuing  up  the  Arkansas  river  to  Bent's 
Fort,  Colorado  (see  page  332),  and  thence  south  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Las  Vegas,  New  Mexico,  and  on  to  Santa 
Fe,  the  other  crossing  the  Arkansas  and  proceeding  to  Las 
Vegas  direct.  The  second,  the  Oregon  trail,  with  branches 
from  Fort  Leavenworth,  Kansas,  and  St.  Joseph,  Missouri, 
ran  northwest  across  Kansas  and  Nebraska  to  Fort  Laramie, 
Wyoming,  and  thence  through  the  mountains  to  the  valley 
of  the  Columbia  river.  Both  were  wagon  routes,  and  the 
former  carried  for  many  years  a  large  and  valuable  overland 
trade  with  northern  Mexico  and  southern  California;  while 
the  latter,  first  shown  about  1832  to  be  practicable  for 
wagons,  was  the  route  commonly  followed  by  emigrants  who 
did  not  prefer  to  go  to  Oregon  by  sea. 

A  prairie  "trail"  was  not,  of  course,  a  regularly  laid  out 
or  carefully  built  roadway,  but  a  track,  or  series  of  tracks, 
worn  deep  into  the  sod  of  the  unbroken  prairie  by  the  wheels 
of  emigrant  wagons,  or  "prairie  schooners, "  or  trampled  by 
the  feet  of  horses  and  cattle.  It  kept  as  much  as  possible 


12  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

on  high  ground,  crossing  streams  only  when  necessary,  and 
then  at  good  fording  places.  Save  along  the  streams,  the 
country  was  bare  of  timber,  but  the  tall  prairie  grass  afforded 
abundant  forage  for  animals.  An  overland  journey,  filled 
as  it  was  certain  to  be  with  picturesque  incidents  and  thrilling 
adventure,  was  nevertheless  slow,  tedious,  laborious,  and  dan- 
gerous; for  in  addition  to  the  constant  likelihood  of  Indian 
attacks,  there  was  the  ever-present-  danger  of  death  from 
starvation,  sickness,  or  exhaustion.  Few  large  parties  crossed 
the  plains  without  leaving  some  of  their  number  in  lonely 
graves  by  the  roadside. 

Parkman's  journey  occupied  about  five  months.  Leaving 
Boston  in  April,  1846,  in  company  with  a  relative,  Quincy 
Adams  Shaw,  he  went  first  to  St.  Louis,  the  trip  by  railroad, 
steamboat,  and  stage  requiring  about  two  weeks.  Here  they 
secured  the  services  of  twTo  guides  and  procured  their  outfit, 
including  in  the  latter  a  supply  of  presents  for  the  Indians. 
Eight  days  on  a  river  steamboat  brought  them  to  Inde- 
pendence, where  the  land  journey  really  began.  From  this 
rough  frontier  town  their  route  took  them  first  to  Fort 
Leavenworth,  the  principal  military  post  on  the  Missouri 
river,  and  thence  by  the  Big  Blue  and  Platte  rivers  to  Fort 
Laramie.  Here  Shaw,  who  was  ill,  remained,  while  Park- 
man,  who  greatly  desired  to  see  the  Indian  at  war,  pushed 
on  until  he  overtook  a  party  of  Ogillallah  bound  for  the 
Black  Hills  to  hunt  buffalo,  and,  it  was  thought,  almost 
certain  to  be  attacked  by  hostile  Arapahoes  or  Crows.  To 
venture  thus  upon  an  expedition  in  which  he  risked  his 
life,  and  at  a  time,  too,  when  he  was  himself  so  ill  as  hardly 
to  be  able  to  ride  his  horse,  testifies  to  extraordinary  courage 
and  strength  of  will. 

Fortunately  there  was  no  fighting,  although,  as  this  part 
of  the  narrative  shows,  there  was  adventure  in  abundance. 
Returning  in  safety  to  Fort  Laramie,  the  party  went  south 
through  Colorado,  passing  Pike's  Peak,  to  a  point  near  the 


INTRODUCTION  13 

Mexican  border,  where  they  met  United  States  volunteers 
bound  for  the  seat  of  war.  Thence  they  continued  north- 
eastward to  Independence,  by  steamboat  to  St.  Louis,  and 
back  to  Boston. 

The  story  of  the  expedition,  dictated  to  Shaw  at  Brattle- 
boro,  Vermont,  was  first  published  in  the  Knickerbocker 
Magazine,  in  1847,  under  the  title  The  Oregon  Trail.  In 
1849  it  appeared  in  book  form,  the  author  having  the  aid 
of  Charles  Eliot  Norton  in  preparing  the  proofs  for  the 
press.  The  original  title  of  the  book  was  The  California 
and  Oregon  Trail:  being  sketches  of  Prairie  and  Rocky 
Mountain  Life.  In  the  fourth  and  later  editions  the  title 
was  changed  to  The  Oregon  Trail:  sketches  of  Prairie  and 
Rocky  Mountain  Life. 

Parkman  was  now  ready  for  the  great  work  which  was 
to  give  him  a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  American  historians. 
The  physical  difficulties  with  which  he  had  to  contend  were 
so  serious  as  to  have  defeated  a  will  less  strong  than  his; 
and  the  courage,  fortitude,  and  cheerfulness  with  which  he 
met  and  conquered  them  make  the  story  of  his  life  one  of  the 
most  heroic  in  the  annals  of  literature.  In  his  fragmentary 
Autobiography  he  tells  us  that  his  childhood  was  "neither 
healthful  or  buoyant";  and  a  boyish  enthusiasm  for  chem- 
istry seems  to  have  injured  rather  than  helped  him.  At  col- 
lege he  sought  to  overcome  his  physical  weakness,  and  to 
prepare  himself  for  the  outdoor  life  which  he  adjudged  neces- 
sary for  his  work,  by  long  walks  at  a  rapid  pace,  vigorous 
horseback  riding,  and  severe  exercise  in  the  gymnasium;  and 
on  his  vacation  trips  he  delighted  in  strenuous  exertion  and 
reckless  exposure.  It  has  often  been  said  that  the  hardships 
of  the  Oregon  journey,  attended  as  it  was  with  sickness  and 
lack  of  proper  food,  ruined  his  constitution;  but  it  seems 
more  probable  that  the  experience  only  aggravated  and  made 
permanent  a  constitutional  weakness  already  well  established. 

Whatever  the  cause,  there  presently  developed  a  serious 


14  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

affection  of  the  eyes,  followed  in  1851  by  an  attack  of  water 
on  the  knee  which  kept  him  in  close  confinement  for  two 
years,  and  left  him  permanently  lame.  Naturally  of  a  nerv- 
ous temperament,  his  physical  sufferings  caused  the  irritability 
of  his  system,  as  he  said,  to  centre  in  the  head,  inducing 
violent  pains  and  a  feeling  of  compression  which,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  weakness  of  the  eyes,  permanently  incapacitated 
him  for  prolonged  application  to  books.  He  was  rarely  able 
to  read  or  write  more  than  a  few  minutes  at  a  time,  and  was 
frequently  compelled  to  abandon  all  work  for  months.  "He 
never  saw  a  perfectly  well  day  during  his  entire  literary 
career."  For  a  time  he  could  write  only  by  aid  of  a  frame 
strung  with  wires,  but  from  this  he  was  presently  emanci- 
pated, though  he  remained  under  the  necessity  of  depending 
upon  assistants  and  copyists,  many  of  his  readers  being  pupils 
from  the  public  schools. 

It  was  with  this  enormous  drawback  of  physical  weak- 
ness that  Parkman  began  and  carried  through  his  historical 
work.  The  first  installment,  The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac, 
appeared  in  1851.  Then  followed  an  interval  of  fourteen 
years  before  the  publication  of  the  next  part,  Pioneers  of 
France  in  the  New  World.  The  remaining  volumes  fol- 
lowed more  rapidly.  In  chronological  order  of  subjects, 
which  is  not  the  order  of  publication,  the  successive  vol- 
umes, bearing  as  a  series  the  title  France  and  England  in 
North  America,,  stand  as  follows:  Pioneers  of  France  in  the 
'  New  World;  The  Jesuits  in  North  America;  LaSalle  and 
the  Discovery  of  the  Great  West;  The  Old  Regime  in  Can- 
ada; Frontenac  and  New  France;  A  Half  Century  of  Con- 
flict; Montcalm  and  Wolfe;  The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac. 

In  the  preparation  of  these  volumes,  Parkman  had  the 
archives  of  Europe  and  America  searched  for  documents, 
many  of  which  up  to  that  time  still  remained  in  manuscript. 
In  addjtion,  he  himself  made  four  journeys  to  Europe  in 
quest  of  material,  besides  personally  visiting  nearly  every 


INTRODUCTION  15 

place  of  importance  in  the  United  States  and  Canada  with 
which  his  story  had  to  do.  At  his  death  he  left  his  collection 
of  manuscripts  to  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  and 
his  books  to  Harvard  University. 

Parkman  did  little  miscellaneous  writing.  An  entertain- 
ing account  of  his  adventures  on  the  Magalloway  appeared 
in  Harper  s  Magazine  for  November,  1864;  and  later,  after 
his  reputation  as  an  historian  was  established,  he  wrote  a 
few  articles  and  reviews  for  periodicals.  A  novel,  Vassall 
Morton,  was  published  in  1856.  A  fragment  of  an  auto- 
biography was  printed  shortly  after  his  death  in  the  Pro- 
ceedings of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  of  which 
he  was  for  some  years  vice-president. 

Parkman  married  in  1850  Catherine  Scollay  Bigelow, 
daughter  of  Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow,  a  famous  Boston  physician. 
His  wife  died  in  1858.  During  the  larger  part  of  his  life 
he  regularly  passed  the  winter  in  Boston  and  the  summer  in 
Jamaica  Plain,  then  a  suburb  but  now  a  part  of  the  city. 
At  his  pleasant  summer  home  on  the  shore  of  Jamaica  Pond 
he  devoted  his  leisure  to  gardening,  winning  special  fame  for 
his  roses,  of  which  a  particularly  beautiful  variety,  the  lilium 
Parkmanni,  bears  his  name.  A  Book  of  Roses,  published 
by  him  in  1866,  long  had  high  repute  among  horticulturists. 
He  was  for  several  years  president  of  the  Massachusetts 
Horticultural  Society,  and  for  a  short  time  held  the  pro- 
fessorship of  horticulture  in  the  Bussey  Institute,  a  depart- 
ment of  Harvard  University. 

Parkman  was  "rather  above  middle  height,  slender  and 
oinewy,  with  a  thin  but  agreeable  and  thoughtful  face,  and 
engaging  manners."  His  physical  infirmities  made  it  impos- 
sible for  him  to  mingle  much  in  society  or  even  to  see  much 
of  his  friends,  but  his  friendships  were  warm  and  enduring, 
and  his  garden  at  Jamaica  Plain  was  always  open  to  visitors. 
Towards  life,  whether  his  own  or  others',  his  prevailing  atti- 
tude was  cheerful  and  buoyant,  with  no  trace  of  melancholy 


16  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

or  disappointment.  He  was  the  first  president  of  the  St. 
Botolph  Club,  one  of  the  leading  social  and  literary  clubs 
of  Boston,  and  was  honored  with  membership  in  numerous 
learned  societies  and  with  degrees  from  American  and  for- 
eign universities.  He  died  at  Jamaica  Plain,  November  8, 
1893,  and  was  buried  at  Mt.  Auburn. 

Notwithstanding  that  the  Oregon  Trail  is  the  work  of 
a  young  man  fresh  from  college,  it  showTs  clearly  some  of 
the  qualities  which  give  greatness  to  Parkman's  work  as  an 
historian  and  writer.  The  language  is  clear,  forcible,  and 
picturesque,  and  at  the  same  time  easy  and  natural.  The 
description  of  scenery,  adventure,  or  hardship,  while  graphic 
and  even  at  times,  perhaps,  over-elaborated,  is  always  truth- 
ful, and  plainly  rests  upon  personal  experience.  Moreover, 
though  the  author  has  much  to  tell,  he  neither  overweights 
the  narrative  with  details  nor  directs  attention  prominently 
to  himself;  on  the  contrary,  he  keeps  constantly  in  view  the 
main  course  of  the  action  he  is  describing,  and  in  the  accounts 
of  his  own  participation  exhibits  notable  modesty  and 
restraint. 

With  regard  to  the  Indian,  Parkman  is  under  no  illusion. 
He  does  not,  like  Cooper,  create  an  essentially  imaginary  red 
man  equipped  with  attractive  and  heroic  qualities;  nor  does 
he,  like  some  later  writers  who  have  seen  the  Indian  only 
at  his  worst,  go  to  the  other  extreme  and  picture  him  as 
merely  a  degraded  and  brutal  savage,  better  dead  than  alive. 
Parkman  describes  Indian  life  as  he  finds  it,  whether  in  the 
squalor  and  privation  of  the  wigwam  and  camp,  or  the 
excitement  of  the  hunt,  or  the  ardor  of  war.  He  knew  from 
personal  experience  that  the  Indian  could  be  brave  as  well 
as  cruel,  talkative  as  well  as  taciturn,  angry  and  uncontroll- 
able as  well  as  self-contained,  a.  firm  friend  as  well  as  a 
bitter  and  relentless  enemy;  and  he  had  no  interest  in  empha- 
sizing one  quality  more  than  the  other.  No  writer  of  Ameri- 
can history  has  gauged  so  accurately,  sympathetically,  and 


INTRODUCTION  17 

impartially  the  essential  traits  of  the  Indian  character,  or 
;set  forth  so  comprehensively  the  every-day  Indian  life.  The 
picture  is  not  always  pleasing,  but  we  nevertheless  feel  that 
the  Indian  whom  we  meet  in  his  pages  is  a  real  person,  not 
a  creature  of  the  imagination. 

Parkman's  historical  work  as  a  whole  is  characterized  by 
extraordinary  accuracy  and  range  of  information,  a  warm 
but  restrained  sympathy  with  the  subject,  and  a  forcible, 
simple,  and  picturesque  style.  Later  investigators  have  cor- 
rected a  few  of  his  statements  and'  modified  a  few  of  his 
judgments,  but  his  work  as  a  whole  does  not  need  to  be 
done  over  again.  He  could  take  the  point  of  view  of  his  char- 
acters without  sacrificing  his  own  critical  judgment,  and 
make  his  heroes  live  again  in  his  pages.  His  literary  style, 
while  occasionally  diffuse  and  lacking  in  rhythmical  balance, 
is  always  easy  and  natural,  and  often  vivid  in  the  highest 
degree.  .  In  power  of  description,  whether  of  scenery,  or 
men,  or  events,  he  is  easily  first  among  American  historians. 
He  had,  to  be  sure,  the  great  advantage  of  working  in  what 
was  then  an  unknown  field,  replete  with  historical  interest; 
but  he  used  his  advantage  with  all  the  intelligence  of  the 
scholar  and  the  vision  of  the  artist.  It  has  been  well  said 
of  his  books  that  they  created  the  history  of  the  French  in 
America. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  best  biography  of  Parkman  is  C.  H.  Farnham's  Life 
of  Francis  Parkman  (Boston,  1901).  H.  D.  Sedgwick's 
Francis  Parkman,  in  the  American  Men  of  Letters  series 
(Boston,  1904),  contains  numerous  extracts  from  letters 
and  journals. 

The  Proceedings  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society, 
series  2,  vol.  8,  contains  (pp.  349-360)  Parkman's  auto- 
biography, together  with  an  excellent  memoir  by  O.  B. 
Frothingham  (pp.  520-562),  and  an  account  of  the  com- 
memorative proceedings  of  the  society.  The  autobiography 
is  also  given  by  Farnham,  supra,  pp.  318-332.  An  interest- 
ing autobiographic  letter  to  Martin  Brimmer  will  be  found 
in  Sedgwick,  supra,  appendix. 

Among  biographical  sketches  or  estimates  of  Parkman's 
work,  the  following  are  especially  to  be  commended :  G.  W. 
Cooke  in  New  England  Magazine,  November,  1889  (vol. 
VII,  pp.  248-262)  ;  E.  L.  Godkin  in  The  Nation,  Novem- 
ber 16,  1893  (vol.  LVII,  pp.  365-367);  J.  R.  Lowell  in 
The  Century  Magazine,  November,  1892  (vol.  XLV,  pp. 
44,  45) ;  J.  H.  Ward  in  The  Forum,  December,  1893  (vol. 
XVI,  pp.  419-428)  ;  Justin  Winsor  and  John  Fiske  in  The 
Atlantic  Monthly,  May,  1894  (vol.  LXXIII,  pp.  660-674). 
An  estimate  by  James  Schouler,  in  his  Historical  Briefs,  pp. 
1-15,  reprinted  from  the  Harvard  Graduates  Magazine,  is 
also  important. 


18 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

The  journey  which  the  following  narrative  describes  was 
undertaken  on  the  writer's  part  with  a  view  of  studying  the 
manners  and  character  of  Indians  in  their  primitive  state. 
Although  in  the  chapters  which  relate  to  them,  he  has  only 
attempted  to  sketch  those  features  of  their  wild  and  pictur- 
esque life  which  fell,  in  the  present  instance,  under  his  own 
eye,  yet  in  doing  so  he  has  constantly  aimed  to  leave  an  im- 
pression of  their  character  correct  as  far  as  it  goes.  In 
justifying  his  claim  to  accuracy  on  this  point,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  advert  to  the  representations  given  by  poets  and 
novelists,  which,  for  the  most  part,  are  mere  creations  of 
fancy.  The  Indian  is  certainly  entitled  to  a  high  rank  among 
savages,  but  his  good  qualities  are  not  those  of  an  Uncas  or 
an  Outalissi. 

The  sketches  were  originally  published  in  the  Knicker- 
bocker Magazine,  commencing  in  February,  1847. 

BOSTON,  February  15,  1849. 


THE    CALIFORNIA    AND 
OREGON  TRAIL 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    FRONTIER 

Last  spring,  1846,  was  a  busy  season  in  the  city  of  St. 
Louis.  Not  only  were  emigrants  from  every  part  of  the 
country  preparing  for  the  journey  to  Oregon  and  California, 
but  an  unusual  number  of  traders  were  making  ready  their 
wagons  and  outfits  for  Santa  Fe.  Many  of  the  emigrants, 
especially  of  those  bound  for  California,  were  persons  of 
wealth  and  standing.  The  hotels  were  crowded,  and  the 
gunsmiths  and  saddlers  were  kept  constantly  at  work  in 
providing  arms  and  equipments  for  the  different  parties  of 
travelers.  Almost  every  day  steamboats  were  leaving  the 
levee  and  passing  up  the  Missouri,  crowded  with  passengers 
on  their  way  to  the  frontier. 

In  one  of  these,  the  Radnor,  since  snagged1  and  lost,  my 
friend  and  relative,  Quincy  A,  Shaw,  and  myself,  left  St. 
Louis  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  April,  on  a  tour  of  curiosity 
and  amusement  to  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  boat  wras 
loaded  until  the  water  broke  alternately  over  her  guards. 
Her  upper  deck  was  covered  with  large  wagons  of  a  peculiar 
form  for  the  Santa  Fe  trade,  and  her  hold  was  crammed 
with  goods  for  the  same  destination.  There  were  also  the 
equipments  and  provisions  of  a  party  of  Oregon  emigrants, 
a  band  of  mules  and  horses,  piles  of  saddles  and  harness,  and 
a  multitude  of  nondescript  articles  indispensable  on  the 
prairies.  Almost  hidden  in  this  medley  one  might  have  seen 

*Caught  by  the  roots  or  branches  of  trees  often  found  in  western  and  southern 
rivers. 

20 


THE  FRONTIER  21 

a  small  French  cart,  of  the  sort  very  appropriately  called  a 
"mule-killer"  beyond  the  frontiers,  and  not  far  distant  a 
tent,  together  with  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  boxes  and 
barrels.  The  whole  equipage  wras  far  from  prepossessing  in 
its  appearance;  yet,  such  as  it  was,  it  was  destined  to  a  long 
and  arduous  journey,  on  which  the  persevering  reader  will 
accompany  it. 

The  passengers  on  board  the  Radnor  corresponded  with 
her  freight.  In  her  cabin  were  Santa  Fe  traders,  gamblers, 
speculators,  and  adventurers  of  various  descriptions,  and  her 
steerage  was  crowded  with  Oregon  emigrants,  "mountain 
men,"1  negroes,  and  a  party  of  Kansas  Indians  who  had  been 
on  a  visit  to  St.  Louis. 

Thus  laden,  the  boat  struggled  upward  for  seven  or  eight 
days  against  the  rapid  current  of  the  Missouri,  grating  upon 
snags,  and  hanging  for  two  or  three  hours  at  a  time  upon 
sand-bars.  We  entered  the  mouth  of  the  Missouri  in  a 
drizzling  rain,  but  the  weather  soon  became  clear,  and 
showed  distinctly  the  broad  and  turbid  river,  with  its  eddies, 
its  sand-bars,  its  ragged  islands,  and  forest-covered  shores. 
The  Missouri  is  constantly  changing  its  course,  wearing  away 
its  banks  on  one  side  while  it  forms  new  ones  on  the  other. 
Its  channel  is  shifting  continually.  Islands  are  formed  and 
then  washed  away;  and  while  the  old  forests  on  one  side 
are  undermined  and  swept  off,  a  young  growth  springs  up 
from  the  new  soil  upon  the  other.  With  all  these  changes, 
the  water  is  so  charged  with  mud  and  sand  that  it  is-  per- 
fectly opaque,  and  in  a  few  minutes  deposits  a  sediment  an 
inch  thick  in  the  bottom  of  a  tumbler.  The  river  was  now 
high ;  but  when  we  descended  in  the  autumn  it  was  fallen 
very  low,  and  all  the  secrets  of  its  treacherous  shallows  were 
exposed  to  view.  It  was  frightful  to  see  the  dead  and  broken 
trees,  thick-set  as  a  military  abatis,  firmly  imbedded  in  the 
sand,  and  all  pointing  down  stream,  ready  to  impale  any 

lTrappers  or  hunters,  not  employed  by  a  fur  company. 


22  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

unhappy  steamboat  that  at  high  water  should  pass  over  that 
dangerous  ground. 

In  five  or  six  days  we  began  to  see  signs  of  the  great 
western  movement  that  was  then  taking  place.  Parties  of 
emigrants,  with  their  tents  and  wagons,  would  be  encamped 
on  open  spots  near  the  bank,  on  their  way  to  the  common 
rendezvous  at  Independence.  On  a  rainy  day,  near  sunset, 
we  reached  the  landing  of  this  place,  which  is  situated  some 
miles  from  the  river,  on  the  extreme  frontier  of  Missouri. 
The  scene  was  characteristic,  for  here  were  represented  at 
one  view  the  most  remarkable  features  of  this  wild  and  enter- 
prising region.  On  the  muddy  shore  stood  some  thirty  or 
forty  dark,  slavish-looking  Spaniards,  gazing  stupidly  out 
from  beneath  their  broad  hats.  They  were  attached  to  one 
of  the  Santa  Fe  companies,1  whose  wagons  were  crowded 
together  on  the  banks  above.  In  the  midst  of  these,  crouch- 
ing over  a  smoldering  fire,  was  a  group  of  Indians  belonging 
to  a  remote  Mexican  tribe.  One  or  two  French2  hunters 
from  the  mountains,  with  their  long  hair  and  buckskin 
dresses,  were  looking  at  the  boat;  and,  seated  on  a  log  close 
at  hand,  wrere  three^  men  with  rifles  lying  across  their  knees. 
The  foremost  of  these,  a  tall,  strong  figure,  writh  a  clear  blue 
eye  and  an  open,  intelligent  face,  might  very  well  represent 
that  race  of  restless  and  intrepid  pioneers  whose  axes  and 
rifles  have  opened  a  path  from  the  Alleghenies  to  the  western 
prairies.  He  was  on  his  way  to  Oregon,  probably  a  more 
congenial  field  to  him  than  any  that  now  remained  on  this 
side  the  great  plains. 

Early  on  the  next  morning  we  reached  Kansas,3  about 
five  hundred  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Missouri.  Here 
we  landed,  and  leaving  our  equipments  in  charge  of  my  good 
friend  Colonel  Chick,  whose  log-house  was  the  substitute  for 

trading  companies. 

2Canadian  French,  very  possibly  half-breeds. 

3The  name  was  then  used  of  a  much  larger  region  than  the  present  State. 


THE  FRONTIER  23 

a  tavern,  we  set  out  in  a  wagon  for  Westport/  where  we 
hoped  to  procure  mules  and  horses  for  the  journey. 

It  was  a  remarkably  fresh  and  beautiful  May  morning. 
The  rich  and  luxuriant  woods  through  which  the  miserable 
road  conducted  us  were  lighted  by  the  bright  sunshine  and 
enlivened  by  a  multitude  of  birds.  We  overtook  on  the  way 
our  late  fellow-travelers,  the  Kansas  Indians,  who,  adorned 
with  all  their  finery,  were  proceeding  homeward  at  a  round 
pace ;  and  whatever  they  might  have  seemed  on  board  the 
boat,  they  made  a  very  striking  and  picturesque  feature  in 
the  forest  landscape. 

Westport  was  full  of  Indians,  whose  little  shaggy  ponies 
were  tied  by  dozens  along  the  houses  and  fences.  Sauks  and 
Foxes,  with  shaved  heads  and  painted  faces,  Shawnees  and 
Delawares,  fluttering  in  calico  frocks  and  turbans,  Wyandots 
dressed  like  white  men,  and  a  few  wretched  Kansas2  wrapped 
in  old  blankets,  were  strolling  about  the  streets  or  lounging 
in  and  out  of  the  shops  and  houses. 

As  I  stood  at  the  door  of  the  tavern,  I  saw  a  remarkable 
looking  person  coming  up  the  street.  He  had  a  ruddy  face, 
garnished  with  the  stumps  of  a  bristly  red  beard  and  mus- 
tache ;  on  one  side  of  his  head  was  a  round  cap  with  a  knob 
at  the  top,  such  as  Scottish  laborers  sometimes  wear ;  his  coat 
was  of  a  nondescript  form,  and  made  of  a  gray  Scotch  plaid, 
with  the  fringes  hanging  all  about  it;  he  wore  pantaloons3 
of  coarse  homespun,  and  hob-nailed  shoes;  and,  to  complete 
his  equipment,  a  little  black  pipe  was  stuck  in  one  corner 
of  his  mouth.  In  this  curious  attire  I  recognized  Captain  C. 
of  the  British  army,  who,  with  his  brother,  and  Mr.  R.,  an 
English  gentleman,  was  bound  on  a  hunting  expedition  across 
the  continent.  I  had  seen  the  captain  and  his  companions  at 
St.  Louis.  They  had  now  been  for  some  time  at  Westport, 
making  preparations  for  their  departure,  and  waiting  for 

JNow  within  the  limits  of  Kansas  City,  Missouri.   The  landing  was  made  at 
what  was  later  known  as  Wayne  City,  Jackson  County. 
2Here  used  as  a  plural  form. 
3Parkman  substituted  "trousers"  in  later  editions. 


24  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

a  re-enforcement,  since  they  were  too  few  in  number  to 
attempt  it  alone.  They  might,  it  is  true,  have  joined  some 
of  the  parties  of  emigrants  who  were  on  the  point  of  setting 
out  for  Oregon  and  California;  but  they  professed  great 
disinclination  to  have  any  connection  with  the  "  Kentucky 
fellows."  * 

The  captain  now  urged  it  upon  us  that  we  should  join 
forces  and  proceed  to  the  mountains  in  company.  Feeling 
no  greater  partiality  for  the  society  of  the  emigrants  than 
they  did,  we  thought  the  arrangement  an  advantageous  one, 
and  consented  to  it.  Our  future  fellow-travelers  had  installed 
themselves  in  a  little  log-house,  where  we  found  them  all 
surrounded  by  saddles,  harness,  guns,  pistols,  telescopes, 
knives,  and,  in  short,  their  complete  appointments  for  the 
prairie.  R.,  who  professed  a  taste  for  natural  history,  sat  at 
a  table  stuffing  a  woodpecker;  the  brother  of  the  captain, 
who  was  an  Irishman,  was  splicing  a  trail-rope2  on  the  floor, 
as  he  had  been  an  amateur  sailor.  The  captain  pointed  out, 
with  much  complacency,  the  different  articles  of  their  outfit. 
"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  that  we  are  all  old  travelers.  I  am 
convinced  that  no  party  ever  went  upon  the  prairie  better 
provided."  The  hunter  whom  they  had  employed,  a  surly 
looking  Canadian  named  Sorel,  and  their  muleteer,  an  Ameri- 
can from  St.  Louis,  were  lounging  about  the  building.  In  a 
little  log  stable  close  at  hand  were  their  horses  and  mules, 
selected  by  the  captain,  who  was  an  excellent  judge. 

The  alliance  entered  into,  we  left  them  to  complete  their 
arrangements,  while  we  pushed  our  own  to3  all  convenient 
speed.  The  emigrants  for  whom  our  friends  professed  such 
contempt  were  encamped  on  the  prairie  about  eight  or  ten 
miles  distant,  to  the  number  of  a  thousand  or  more,  and 
new  parties  were  constantly  passing  out  from  Independence 

1  Probably  an  example  of  the  ignorance  of  America   common  among  English- 
men of  that  day.     Few  emigrants  went  to  Oregon  and  California  from  Kentucky. 

2  A  long  rope,  wound  about  a  horse's  neck  or  carried  on  the  horn  of  the  saddle, 
and  used  for  leading  or  tethering  an  animal. 

'"With. 


THE  FRONTIER  25 

to  join  them.  They  were  in  great  confusion,  holding  meet- 
ings, passing  resolutions,  and  drawing  up  regulations,  but 
unable  to  unite  in  the  choice  of  leaders  to  conduct  them 
across  the  prairie.  Being  at  leisure  one  day,  I  rode  over  to 
Independence.  The  town  was  crowded.  A  multitude  of 
shops  had  sprung  up  to  furnish  the  emigrants  and  Santa  Fe 
traders  with  necessaries  for  their  journey;  and  there  was  an 
incessant  hammering  and  banging  from  a  dozen  blacksmiths' 
sheds,  where  the  heavy  wagons  were  being  repaired  and  the 
horses  and  oxen  shod.  The  streets  were  thronged  with  men, 
horses,  and  mules.  While  I  was  in  the  town,  a  train  of 
emigrant  wagons  from  Illinois  passed  through  to  join  the 
camp  on  the  prairie,  and  stopped  in  the  principal  street.  A 
multitude  of  healthy  childrens'  faces  were  peeping  out  from 
under  the  covers  of  the  wagons.  Here  and  there  a  buxom 
damsel  was  seated  on  horseback,  holding  over  her  sun-burnt 
face  an  old  umbrella  or  a  parasol,  once  gaudy  enough,  but 
now  miserably  faded.  The  men,  very  sober-looking  country- 
men, stood  about  their  oxen;  and  as  I  passed  I  noticed  three 
old  fellows,  who,  with  their  long  whips  in  their  hands,  were 
zealously  discussing  the  doctrine  of  regeneration.  The  emi- 
grants, however,  are  not  all  of  this  stamp.  Among  them 
are  some  of  the  vilest  outcasts  in  the  country.  I  have  often 
perplexed  myself  to  divine  the  various  motives  that  give 
impulse  to  this  strange  migration;  but  whatever  they  may 
be,  whether  an  insane  hope  of  a  better  condition  in  life,  or  a 
desire  of  shaking  off  restraints  of  law  and  society,  or  mere 
restlessness,  certain  it  is  that  multitudes  bitterly  repent  the 
journey,  and  after  they  have  reached  the  land  of  promise  are 
happy  enough  to  escape  from  it. 

In  the  course  of  seven  or  eight  days  we  had  brought  our 
preparations  near  to  a  close.  Meanwhile  our  friends  had 
completed  theirs,  and  becoming  tired  of  Westport,- they  told 
us  that  they  would  set  out  in  advance  and  wait  at  the  cross- 
ing of  the  Kansas1  till  we  should  come  up.  Accordingly  R. 

1Kansas  River. 


26  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

and  the  muleteer  went  forward  with  the  wagon  and  tent, 
while  the  captain  and  his  brother,  together  with  Sorel,  and 
a  trapper  named  Boisverd  who  had  joined  them,  followed 
with- the  band  of  horses.  The  commencement  of  the  journey 
was  ominous,  for  the  captain  was  scarcely  a  mile  from  West- 
port,  riding  along  in  state  at  the  head  of  his  party,  leading 
his  intended  buffalo  horse1  by  a  rope,  when  a  tremendous 
thunderstorm  came  on  and  drenched  them  all  to  the  skin. 
They  hurried  on  to  reach  the  place,  about  seven  miles  off, 
where  R.  was  to  have  had  the  camp  in  readiness  to  receive 
them.  But  this  prudent  person,  when  he  saw  the  storm 
approaching,  had  selected  a  sheltered  glade  in  the  woods, 
where  he  pitched  his  tent,  and  was  sipping  a  comfortable 
cup  of  coffee,  while  the  captain  galloped  for  miles  beyond 
through  the  rain  to  loojc  for  him.  At  length  the  storm  cleared 
away,  and  the  sharp-eyed  trapper  succeeded  in  discovering 
his  tent.  R.  had  by  this  time  finished  his  coffee,  and  was 
seated  on  a  buffalo  robe  smoking  his  pipe.  The  captain  was 
one  of  the  most  easy-tempered  men  in  existence,  so  he  bore 
his  ill-luck  with  great  composure,  shared  the  dregs  of  the 
coffee  with  his  brother,  and  laid  down  to  sleep  in  his  wet 
clothes. 

We  ourselves  had  our  share  of  the  deluge.  We  were 
leading  a  pair  of  mules  to  Kansas  when  the  storm  broke. 
Such  sharp  and  incessant  flashes  of  lightning,  such  stunning 
and  continuous  thunder,  I  had  never  known  before.  The 
woods  were  completely  obscured  by  the  diagonal  sheets  of 
rain  that  fell  with  a  heavy  roar,  and  rose  in  spray  from  the 
ground ;  and  the  streams  rose  so  rapidly  that  we  could  hardly 
ford  them.  At  length,  looming  through  the  rain,  we  saw 
the  log-house  of  Colonel  Chick,  who  received  us  with  his 
usual  bland  hospitality;  while  his  wife,  who,  though  a  little 
soured  and  stiffened  by  too  frequent  attendance  on  camp- 
meetings,  was  not  behind  him  in  hospitable  feeling,  supplied 

1A  horse  for  hunting  buffalo. 


THE  FRONTIER  27 

us  with  the  means  of  repairing  our  drenched  and  bedraggled 
condition.  The  storm,  clearing  away  at  about  sunset,  opened 
a  noble  prospect  from  the  porch  of  the  colonel's  house,  which 
stands  upon  a  high  hill.  The  sun  streamed  from  the  break- 
ing clouds  upon  the  swift  and  angry  Missouri,  and  on  the 
immense  expanse  of  luxuriant  forest  that  stretched  from  its 
banks  back  to  the  distant  bluffs. 

Returning  on  the  next  day  to  Westport,  we  received  a 
message  from  the  captain,  \vho  had  ridden  back  to  deliver  it 
in  person,  but,  finding  that  we  were  in  Kansas,  had  intrusted 
it  with  an  acquaintance  of  his  named  Vogel,  who  kept  a 
small  grocery  and  liquor  shop.  Whiskey,  by  the  way,  cir- 
culates more  freely  in  Westport  than  is  altogether  safe  in  a 
place  where  every  man  carries  a  loaded  pistol  in  his  pocket. 
As  we  passed  this  establishment,  we  saw  Vogel's  broad  Ger- 
man face  and  knavish  looking  eyes  thrust  from  his  door. 
He  said  he  had  something  to  tell  us,  and  invited  us  to  take 
a  dram.  Neither  his  liquor  nor  his  message  was  very  pal- 
atable. The  captain  had  returned  to  give  us  notice  that  R., 
who  assumed  the  direction  of  his  party,  had  determined  upon 
another  route  from  that  agreed  upon  between  us;  and, 
instead  of  taking  the  course  of  the  traders,  to  pass  northward 
by  Fort  Leavenworth,1  and  follow  the  path  marked  out  by 
the  dragoons  in  their  expedition  of  last  summer.2  To  adopt 
such  a  plan  without  consulting  us,  we  looked  upon  as  a  very 
high-handed  proceeding;  but,  suppressing  our  dissatisfaction 
as  well  as  we  could,  we  made  up  our  minds  to  join  them  at 
Fort  Leavenworth,  where  they  were  to  wait  for  us. 

Accordingly,  our  preparation  being  now  complete,  we 
attempted  one  fine  morning  to  commence  our  journey.  The 
first  step  was  an  unfortunate  one.  No  sooner  were  our  ani- 


principal  military  post  on  the  Missouri,  established  in  1827. 
•During  the  summer  of  1845,  the  First  Regiment  of  Dragoons  made  excursions 
into  the  country  west  of  the  Missouri,  one  party  going  north  nearly  to  British 
territory,  another  as  far  as  the  South  Pass  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the 
headwaters  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Colorado.  The  object  was  to  intimidate  and 
conciliate  the  Indians  See  pp.  45,  260,  post. 


28  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

mals  put  in  harness  than  the  shaft  mule  reared  and  plunged, 
burst  ropes  and  straps,  and  nearly  flung  the  cart  into  the 
Missouri.  Finding  her  wholly  uncontrollable,  we  exchanged 
her  for  another,  with  which  we  were  furnished  by  our  friend 
Mr.  Boone  of  Westport,  a  grandson  of  Daniel  Boone,  the 
pioneer.  This  foretaste  of  prairie  experience  was  very  soon 
followed  by  another.  Westport  was  scarcely  out  of  sight, 
when  we  encountered  a  deep,  muddy  gully,  of  a  species  that 
afterward  became  but  too  familiar  to  us;  and  here  for  the 
space  of  an  hour  or  more  the  cart  stuck  fast. 


CHAPTER  II 

BREAKING    THE    ICE 

Both  Shaw  and  myself  were  tolerably  inured  to  the 
vicissitudes  of  traveling.  We  had  experienced  them  under 
various  forms,  and  a  birch  canoe  was  as  familiar  to  us  as 
a  steamboat.  The  restlessness,  the  love  of  wilds  and  hatred 
of  cities,  natural  perhaps  in  early  years  to  every  unperverted 
son  of  Adam,  was  not  our  only  motive  for  undertaking  the 
present  journey.  My  companion  hoped  to  shake  off  the 
effects  of  a  disorder  that  had  impaired  a  constitution  origi- 
nally hardy  and  robust;  and  I  was  anxious  to  pursue  some 
inquiries  relative  to  the  character  and  usages  of  the  remote 
Indian  nations,  being  already  familiar  with  many  of  the 
border  tribes. 

Emerging  from  the  mud-hole  where  we  last  took  leave 
of  the  reader,  we  pursued  our  way  for.  some  time  along  the 
narrow  track,  in  the  checkered  sunshine  and  shadow  of  the 
woods,  till  at  length,  issuing  forth  into  the  broad  light,  we 
left  behind  us  the  farthest  outskirts  of  that  great  forest  that 
once  spread  unbroken  from,  the  western  plains  to  the  shore 
of  the  Atlantic.  Looking  over  an  intervening  belt  of  shrub- 
bery, we  saw  the  green,  oceanlike  expanse  of  prairie,  stretch- 
ing swell  over  swell  to  the  horizon. 

It  was  a  mild,  calm  spring  day;  a  day  when  one  is  more 
disposed  to  musing  and  reverie  than  to  action,  and  the  softest 
part  of  his  nature  is  apt  to  gain  the  ascendency.  I  rode  in 
advance  of  the  party,  as  we  passed  through  the  shrubbery; 
and  as  a  nook  of  green  grass  offered  a  strong  temptation,  I 
dismounted  and  lay  down  there.  All  the  trees  and  saplings 
were  in  flower,  or  budding  into  fresh  leaf;  the  red  clusters 

29 


30  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

of  the  maple-blossoms  and  the  rich  flowers  of  the  Indian 
apple  were  there  in  profusion ;  and  I  was  half  inclined  to 
regret  leaving  behind  the  land  of  gardens  for  the  rude  and 
stern  scenes  of  the  prairie  and  the  mountains. 

Meanwhile  the  party  came  in  sight  from  out  of  the 
bushes.  Foremost  rode  Henry  Chatillon,  our  guide  and 
hunter,  a  fine  athletic  figure,  mounted  on  a  hardy  gray  Wyan- 
dot  pony.  He  wore  a  white  blanket-coat,  a  broad  hat  of  felt, 
moccasins,  and  pantaloons  of  deerskin,  ornamented  along  the 
seams  with  rows  of  long  fringes.  His  knife  was  stuck  in 
his  belt;  his  bullet-pouch  and  powder-horn  hung  at  his  side, 
and  his  rifle  lay  before  him,  resting  against  the  high  pommel 
of  his  saddle,  which,  like  all  his  equipments,  had  seen  hard 
service  and  was  much  the  worse  for  wear.  Shaw  followed 
close,  mounted  on  a  little  sorrel  horse,  and  leading  a  larger 
animal  by  a  rope.  His  outfit,  which  resembled  mine,  had 
been  provided  with  a  view  to  use  rather  than  ornament.  It 
consisted  of  a  plain,  black  Spanish  saddle,  with  holsters  of 
heavy  pistols,  a  blanket  rolled  up  behind  it,  and  the  trail-rope 
attached  to  his  horse's  neck  hanging  coiled  in  front.  He 
carried  a  double-barreled  smooth-bore,  while  I  boasted  a  rifle 
of  some  fifteen  pounds  weight.  At  that  time  our  attire, 
though  far  from  elegant,  bore  some  marks  of  civilization, 
and  offered  a  very  favorable  contrast  to  the  inimitable  shab- 
biness  of  our  appearance  on  the  return  journey.  A  red  flan- 
nel shirt,  belted  around  the  waist  like  a  frock,  then  constituted 
our  upper  garment;  moccasins  had  supplanted  our  failing 
boots;  and  the  remaining  essential  portion  of  our  attire  con- 
sisted of  an  extraordinary  article,  manufactured  by  a  squaw- 
out  of  smoked  buckskin.  Our  muleteer,  Deslauriers,  brought 
up  the  rear  with  his  cart,  waddling  ankle-deep  in  the  mud, 
alternately  puffing  at  his  pipe  and  ejaculating  in  his  prairie 
patois :  "Sacre  enfant  de  garce!"  1  as  one  of  the  mules  would 
seem  to  recoil  before  some  abyss  of  unusual  profundity.  The 

1A  French  Canadian  oatn. 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  31 

cart  was  of  the  kind  that  one  may  see  by  scores  around  the 
market-place  in  Montreal,1  and  had  a  white  covering  to  pro- 
tect the  articles  within.  These  were  our  provisions  and  a 
tent,  with  ammunition,  blankets,  and  presents  for  the  Indians. 

We  were  in  all  four  men  with  eight  animals ;  for  besides  the 
spare  horses  led  by  Shaw  and  myself,  an  additional  mule  was 
driven  along  with  us  as  a  reserve  in  case  of  accident. 

After  this  summing  up  of  our  forces,  it  may  not  be  amiss 
to  glance  at  the  characters  of  the  two  men  who  accom- 
panied us. 

Deslauriers  was  a  Canadian,  with  all  the  characteristics  of 
the  true  Jean  Baptiste.2  Neither  'fatigue,  exposure,  nor 
hard  labor  could  ever  impair  his  cheerfulness  and  gayety,  or 
his  obsequious  politeness  to  his  bourgeois;3  and  when  night 
came  he  would  sit  down  by  the  fire,  smoke  his  pipe,  and  tell 
stories  with  the  utmost  contentment.  In  fact,  the  prairie 
was  his  congenial  element.  Henry  Chatillon  was  of  a  differ- 
ent stamp.  When  we  were  at  St.  Louis,  several  gentlemen 
of  the  Fur  Company4  had  kindly  offered  to  procure  for  us 
a  hunter  and  guide  suited  for  our  purposes,  and  on  coming 
one  afternoon  to  the  office,  we  found  there  a  tall  and  exceed- 
ingly well-dressed  man,  with  a  face  so  open  and  frank  that  it 
attracted  our  notice  at  once.  We  were  surprised  at  being 
told  that  it  was  he  who  wished  to  guide  us  to  the  mountains. 
He  was  born  in  a  little  French  town  near  St.  Louis,  and  from 
the  age  of  fifteen  years  had  been  constantly  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  employed  for  the  most  part  by 
the  Company  to  supply  their  forts  with  buffalo  meat.  As  a 
hunter  he  had  but  one  rival  in  the  whole  region,  a  man  named 
Cimoneau,  with  whom,  to  the  honor  of  both  of  them,  he  was 

*A  small  two-wheeled  cart  drawn  by  one  horse,  still  common  in  eastern 
Canada. 

2A  common  nickname  for  French  Canadians  of  the  lower  class. 

3Master. 

*The  American  Fur  Company,  founded  by  John  Jacob  Astor,  practically 
monopolized  the  fur  trade  of  the  Missouri  River.  The  headquarters  of  the  West- 
ern Department  of  the  company  were  at  St.  Louis. 


32  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

on  terms  of  the  closest  friendship.  He  had  arrived  at  St. 
Louis  the  day  before,  from  the  mountains,  where  he  had  re- 
mained for  four  years;  and  he  now  only  asked  to  go  and 
spend  a  day  with  his  mother  before  setting  out  on  another  ex- 
pedition. His  age  was  about  thirty;  he  was  six  feet  high, 
and  very  powerfully  and  gracefully  moulded.  The  prairies 
had  been  his  school;  he  could  neither  read  nor  write,  but  he 
had  a  natural  refinement  and  delicacy  of  mind  such  as  is  very 
rarely  found,  even  in  women.  His  manly  face  was  a  perfect 
mirror  of  uprightness,  simplicity,  and  kindness  of  heart;  he 
had,  moreover,  a  keen  perception  of  character,  and  a  tact 
that  would  preserve  him  from  flagrant  error  in  any  society. 
Henry  had  not  the  restless  energy  of  an  Anglo-American. 
He  was  content  to  take  things  as  he  found  them;  and  his 
chief  fault  arose  from  an  excess  of  easy  generosity,  impelling 
him  to  give  away  too  profusely  ever  to  thrive  in  the  world. 
Yet  it  was  commonly  remarked  of  him,  that  whatever  he 
might  choose  to  do  with  what  belonged  to  himself,  the 
property  of  others  was  always  safe  in  his  hands.  His  bravery 
was  as  much  celebrated  in  the  mountains  as  his  skill  in  hunt- 
ing ;  but  it  is  characteristic  of  him  that,  in  a  country  where 
the  rifle  is  the  chief  arbiter  between  man  and  man,  Henry 
was  very  seldom  involved  in  quarrels.  Once  or  twice, 
indeed,  his  quiet  good-nature  had  been  mistaken  and  pre- 
sumed upon,  but  the  consequences  of  the  error  were  su  for- 
midable that  no  one  was  ever  known  to  repeat  it.  No  better 
evidence  of  the  intrepidity  of  his  temper  could  be  wished 
than  the  common  report  that  he  had  killed  more  than  thirty 
grizzly  bears.  He  was  a  proof  of  what  unaided  nature  will 
sometimes  do.  I  have  never,  in  the  city  or  in  the  wilderness, 
met  a  better  man  than  my  noble  and  true-hearted  friend, 
Henry  Chatillon. 

We  were  soon  free  of  the  woods  and  bushes,  and  fairly 
upon  the  broad  prairie.  Now  and  then  a  Shawnee  passed 
us,  riding  his  little  shaggy  pony  at  a  "lope" ;  his  calico  shirt, 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  33 

his  gaudy  sash,  and  the  gay  handkerchief  bound  around  his 
snaky  hair  fluttering  in  the  wind.  At  noon  we  stopped  to 
rest  not  far  from  a  little  creek  replete  with  frogs  and  young 
turtles.  There  had  been  an  Indian  encampment  at  the  place, 
and  the  framework  of  their  lodges  still  remained,  enabling 
us  very  easily  to  gain  a  shelter  from  the  sun,  by  merely 
spreading  one  or  two  blankets  over  them.  Thus  shaded, 
we  sat  upon  our  saddles,  and  Shaw  for  the  first  time  lighted 
his  favorite  Indian  pipe;  while  Deslauriers  was  squatted 
over  a  hot  bed  of  coals,  shading  his  .eyes  with  one  hand  and 
holding  a  little  stick  in  the  other,  with  which  he  regulated 
the  hissing  contents  of  the  frying-pan.  The  horses  were 
turned  to  feed  among  the  scattered  bushes  of  a  low  oozy 
meadow.  A  drowzy  springlike  sultriness  pervaded  the  air, 
and  the  voices  of  ten  thousand  young  frogs  and  insects,  just 
awakened  into  life,  rose  in  varied  chorus  from  the  creek 
and  the  meadows. 

Scarcely  were  we  seated  when  a  visitor  approached.  This 
was  an  old  Kansas  Indian;  a  man  of  distinction,  if  one 
might  judge  from  his  dress.  His  head  was  shaved  and 
painted  red,  and  from  the  tuft  of  hair  remaining  on  the 
crown  dangled  several  eagle's  feathers,  and  the  tails  of  two 
or  three  rattlesnakes.  His  cheeks,  too,  were  daubed  with 
vermilion ;  his  ears  were  adorned  with  green  glass  pendants ; 
a  collar  of  grizzly  bears'  claws  surrounded  his  neck,  and 
several  large  necklaces  of  wampum  hung  on  his  breast.  Hav- 
ing shaken  us  by  the  hand  with  a  cordial  grunt  of  salutation, 
the  old  man,  dropping  his  red  blanket  from  his  shoulders, 
sat  down  cross-legged  on  the  ground.  In  the  absence  of 
liquor  we  offered  him  a  cup  of  sweetened  water,  at  which 
he  ejaculated  "Good!"  and  was  beginning  to  tell  us  how 
great  a  man  he  was,  and  how  many  Pawnees  he  had  killed, 
when  suddenly  a  motley  concourse  appeared  wading  across 
the  creek  toward  us.  They  filed  past  in  rapid  succession, 
men,  women,  and  children;  some  were  on  horseback,  some 


34  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

on  foot,  but  all  were  alike  squalid  and  wretched.  Old 
squaws,  mounted  astride  of  shaggy,  meager  little  ponies, 
with  perhaps  one  or  two  snake-eyed  children  seated  behind 
them,  clinging  to  their  tattered  blankets;  tall  lank  young 
men  on  foot,  wTith  bows  and  arrows  in  their  hands;  and 
girls  whose  native  ugliness  not  all  the  charms  of  glass  beads 
and  scarlet  cloth  could  disguise,  made  up  the  procession ; 
although  here  and  there  was  a  man  who,  like  our  visitor, 
seemed  to  hold  some  rank  in  this  respectable  community. 
They  were  the  dregs  of.  the  Kansas  nation,  who,  while  their 
betters  were  gone  to  hunt  the  buffalo,  had  left  the  village 
on  a  begging  expedition  to  Westport. 

When  this  ragamuffin  horde  had  passed,  we  caught  our 
horses,  saddled,  harnessed,  and  resumed  our  journey.  Ford- 
ing the  creek,  the  low  roofs  of  a  number  of  rude  buildings 
appeared,  rising  from  a  cluster  of  groves  and  woods  on  the 
left ;  and  riding  up  through  a  long  lane,  amid  a  profusion 
of  wild  roses  and  early  spring  flowers,  we  found  the  log- 
church  and  school-houses  belonging  to  the  Methodist  Shaw- 
nee  Mission.1  The  Indians  were  on  the  point  of  gathering 
to  a  religious  meeting.  Some  scores  of  them,  tall  men  in 
half-civilized  dress,  were  seated  on  wooden  benches  under 
the  trees ;  while  their  horses  were  tied  to  the  sheds  and  fences.  ] 
Their  chief,  Parks,2  a  remarkably  large  and  athletic  man, 
was  just  arrived  from  Westport,  where  he  owns  a  trading 
establishment.  Beside  this,  he  has  a  fine  farm  and  a  con-  j 
siderable  number  of  slaves.3  Indeed  the  Shawnees  have  made 
greater  progress  in  agriculture  than  any  other  tribe  on  the  i 
Missouri  frontier;  and  both  in  appearance  and  in  character 
form  a  marked  contrast  to  our  late  acquaintance,  the  Kansas. 

A  few  hours'  ride  brought  us  to  the  banks  of  the  river 

^Established  about  1829-1830. 

2Captain  Joseph  Parks,  b.  1793,  d.  1859,  one  of  the  most  noted  chiefs  of  the 
Shawnees.  He  served  on  the  side  of  the  United  States  in  the  Seminole  war,  and 
was  noted  for  his  intelligence  and  public  spirit.  See  Kansas  Historical  Collec- 
tions, X,  399-401. 

3A  rare  instance  of  the  ownership  of  negro  slaves  by  Indians. 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  35 

Kansas.  Traversing  the  woods  that  lined  it,  and  plowing 
through  the  deep  sand,  we  encamped  not  far  from  the  bank, 
at  the  Lower  Delaware  crossing.  Our  tent  was  erected  for 
the  first  time  on  a  meadow  close  to  the  woods,  and  the  camp 
preparations  being  complete,  we  began  to  think  of  supper. 
An  old  Delaware  woman,  of  some  three  hundred  pounds' 
weight,  sat  in  the  porch  of  a  little  log-house  close  to  the 
water,  and  a  very  pretty  half-breed  girl  was  engaged,  under 
her  superintendence,  in  feeding  a  large  flock  of  turkeys  that 
were  fluttering  and  gobbling  about  the  door.  But  no  offers 
of  money,  or  even  of  tobacco,  could  induce  her  to  part  with 
one  of  her  favorites;  so  I  took  my  rifle,  to  see  if  the  woods 
or  the  river  could  furnish  us  anything.  A  multitude  of 
quails  were  plaintively  whistling  in  the  woods  and  meadows ; 
but  nothing  appropriate  to  the  rifle  was  to  be  seen,  except 
three  buzzards,  seated  on  the  spectral  limbs  of  an  old  dead 
sycamore  that  thrust  itself  out  over  the  river  from  the  dense 
sunny  wall  of  fresh  foliage.  Their  ugly  heads  were  drawn 
down  between  their  shoulders,  and  they  seemed  to  luxuriate 
in  the  soft  sunshine  that  was  pouring  from  the  west.  As 
they  offered  no  epicurean  temptations,  I  refrained  from  dis- 
turbing their  enjoyment,  but  contented  myself  with  admiring 
the  calm  beauty  of  the  sunset ;  for  the  river,  eddying  swiftly 
in  deep  purple  shadows  between  the  impending  wroods,  formed 
•a  wild  but  tranquilizing  scene. 

When  I  returned  to  the  camp  I  found  Shaw  and  an  old 
Indian  seated  on  the  ground  in  close  conference,  passing  the 
pipe  between  them.  The  old  man  was  explaining  that  he 
loved  the  whites,  and  had  an  especial  partiality  for  tobacco. 
Deslauriers  was  arranging  upon  the  ground  our  service  of 
.tin  cups  and  plates ;  and  as  other  viands  were  not  to  be  had, 
he  set  before  us  a  repast  of  biscuit  and  bacon,  and  a  large  pot 
of  coffee.  Unsheathing  our  knives,  we  attacked  it,  disposed 
of  the  greater  part,  and  tossed  the  residue  to  the  Indian. 
Meanwhile  our  horses,  now  hobbled  for  the  first  time,  stood 


36  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

among  the  trees  with  their  fore-legs  tied  together,  in  great 
disgust  and  astonishment.  They  seemed  by  no  means  to 
relish  this  foretaste  of  what  was  before  them.  Mine,  in  par- 
ticular, had  conceived  a  mortal  aversion  to  the  prairie  life. 
One  of  them,  christened  Hendrick,  an  animal  whose  strength 
and  hardihood  were  his  only  merits,  and  who  yielded  to 
nothing  but  the  cogent  arguments  of  the  whip,  looked  toward 
us  with  an  indignant  countenance,  as  if  he  meditated  aveng- 
ing his  wrongs  with  a  kick.  The  other,  Pontiac,  a  good 
horse,  though  of  plebeian  lineage,  stood  with  his  head  droop- 
ing and  his  mane  hanging  about  his  eyes,  with  the  grieved 
and  sulky  air  of  a  lubberly  boy  sent  off  to  school.  Poor 
Pontiac!  his  forebodings  were  but  too  just;  for  when  I  last 
heard  from  him,  he  was  under  the  lash  of  an  Ogallala  brave, 
on  a  war  party  against  the  Crows. 

As  it  grew  dark,  and  the  voices  of  the  whip-poor-wills 
succeeded  the  whistle  of  the  quails,  we  removed  our  saddles 
to  the  tent  to  serve  as  pillows,  spread  our  blankets  upon 
the  ground,  and  prepared  to  bivouac  for  the  first  time  that 
season.  Each  man  selected  the  place  in  the  tent  which  he 
was  to  occupy  for  the  journey.  To  Deslauriers,  however, 
was  assigned  the  cart,  into  which  he  could  creep  in  wet 
weather,  and  find  a  much  better  shelter  than  his  bourgeois 
enjoyed  in  the  tent. 

The  river  Kansas  at  this  point  forms  the  boundary  line 
between  the  country  of  the  Shawnees  and  that  of  the  Dela- 
wares.  We  crossed  it  on  the  following  day,  rafting  over 
our  horses  and  equipage  with  much  difficulty,  and  unlading 
our  cart  in  order  to  make  our  way  up  the  steep  ascent  on 
the  farther  bank.  It  was  a  Sunday  morning,  warm,  tranquil 
and  bright;  and  a  perfect  stillness  reigned  over  the  rough 
inclosures  and  neglected  fields  of  the  Delawares,  except  the 
ceaseless  hum  and  chirruping  of  myriads  of  insects.  Now  and 
then  an  Indian  rode  past  on  his. way. to  the  meeting-house, 
or  through  the  dilapidated  entrance  of  some  shattered  log- 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  37 

house  an  old  woman  might  be  discerned,  enjoying  all  the 
luxury  of  idleness.  There  was  no  village  bell,  for  the  Dela- 
wares  have  none;  and  yet  upon  that  forlorn  and  rude  settle- 
ment was  the  same  spirit  of  Sabbath  repose  and  tranquillity 
as  in  some  little  New  England  village  among  the  mountains 
of  New  Hampshire  or  the  Vermont  woods. 

Having  at  present  no  leisure  for  such  reflections,  we 
pursued  our  journey.  A  military  road  led  from  this  point 
to  Fort  Leavenworth,  and  for  many  miles  the  farms  and 
cabins  of  the  Delawares  were  scattered  at  short  intervals  on 
either  hand.  The  little  rude  structures  of  logs,  erected 
usually  on  the  borders  of  a  tract  of  woods,  made  a  picturesque 
feature  in  the  landscape.  But  the  scenery  needed  no  foreign 
aid.  Nature  had  done  enough  for  it;  and  the  alternation 
of  rich  green  prairies  and  groves  that  stood  in  clusters,  or 
lined  the  banks  of  the  numerous  little  streams,  had  all  the 
softened  and  polished  beauty  of  a  region  that  has  been  for 
centuries  under  the  hand  of  man.  At  that  early  season,  too, 
it  was  in  the  height  of  its  freshness  and  luxuriance.  The 
woods  were  flushed  with  the  red  buds  of  the  maple;  there 
were  frequent  flowering  shrubs  unknown  in  the  east;  and 
the  green  swells  of  the  prairie  were  thickly  studded  with 
blossoms. 

Encamping  near  a  spring  by  the  side  of  a  hill,  we  resumed 
our  journey  in  the  morning,  and  early  in  the  afternoon  had 
arrived  within  a  few  miles  of  Fort  Leavenworth.  The  road 
crossed  a  stream  densely  bordered  with  trees,  and  running 
in  the  bottom  of  a  deep  woody  hollow.  We  were  about  to 
descend  into  it,  when  a  wild  and  confused  procession  appeared, 
passing  through  the  water  below  and  coming  up  the  steep 
ascent  toward  us.  We  stopped  to  let  them  pass.  They 
were  Delawares,  just  returned  from  a  hunting  expedition. 
All,  both  men  and  women,  were  mounted  on  horseback,  and 
drove  along  with  them  a  considerable  number  of  pack  mules, 
laden  with  the  furs  they  had  taken,  together  with  the  buf- 


38  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

falo  robes,  kettles,  and  other  articles  of  their  traveling  equip- 
ment, which,  as  well  as  their  clothing  and  their  weapons, 
had  a  worn  and  dingy  aspect,  as  if  they  had  seen  hard  service 
of  late.  At  the  rear  of  the  party  was  an  old  man,  who,  as 
he  came  up,  stopped  his  horse  to  speak  to  us.  He  rode  a  lit- 
tle tough  shaggy  pony,  with  mane  and  tail  well  knotted  writh 
burrs,  and  a  rusty  Spanish  bit  in  its  mouth,  to  which, 
by  way  of  reins,  was  attached  a  string  of  rawhide.  His 
saddle,  robbed  probably  from  a  Mexican,  had  no  covering, 
being  merely  a  tree  of  the  Spanish  form,  with  a  piece  of 
grizzly  bear's  skin  laid  over  it,  a  pair  of  rude  wooden  stir- 
rups attached,  and  in  the  absence  of  girth,  a  thong  of  hide 
passing  around  the  horse's  belly.  The  rider's  dark  features 
and  keen  snaky  eye  were  unequivocally  Indian.  He  wore  a 
buckskin  frock,  which,  like  his  fringed  leggings,  was  well 
polished  and  blackened  by  grease  and  long  service;  and  an 
old  handkerchief  was  tied  around  his  head.  Resting  on  the 
saddle  before  him  lay  his  rifle,  a  weapon  in  the  use  of  which 
the  Delawares  are  skillful ;  though,  from  its  weight,  the  dis- 
tant prairie  Indians  are  too  lazy  to  carry  it.1 

"Who's  your  chief?"  he  immediately  inquired. 

Henry  Chatillon  pointed  to  us.  The  old  Delaware  fixed 
his  eyes  intently  upon  us  for  a  moment,  and  then  senten- 
tiously  remarked: 

"No  good!  Too  young!"  With  this  flattering  comment 
he  left  us,  and  rode  after  his  people. 

This  tribe,  the  Delawares,  once  the  peaceful  allies  of 
William  Penn,  the  tributaries  of  the  conquering  Iroquois,  are 
now  the  most  adventurous  and  dreaded  warriors  upon  the 
prairies.  They  make  war  upon  remote  tribes,  the  very  names 
of  which  were  unknown  to  their  fathers  in  their  ancient  seats 
in  Pennsylvania;  and  they  push  these  new  quarrels  with  true 
Indian  rancor,  sending  out  their  little  war  parties  as  far  as 
the  Rocky  Mountains  and  into  the  Mexican  territories. 

!The  western  Indians  did  not  as  yet  generally  use  firearms. 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  39 

Their  neighbors  and  former  confederates,  the  Shawnees,  who 
lire  tolerable  farmers,  are  in  a  prosperous  condition;  but 
i:he  Delawares  dwindle  every  year,  from  the  number  of  men 
lost  in  their  warlike  expeditions. 

Soon  after  leaving  this  party,  we  saw,  stretching  on  the 
right,  the  forests  that  follow  the  course  of  the  Missouri, 
and  the  deep  woody  channel  through  which  at  this  point  it 
runs.  At  a  distance  in  front  were  the  white  barracks  of 
Fort  Leavenworth,  just  visible  through  the  trees  upon  an 
eminence  above  a  bend  of  the  river.  A  wide  green  meadow, 
as  level  as  a  lake,  lay  between  us  and  the  Missouri,  and 
upon  this,  close  to  a  line  of  trees  that  bordered  a  little  brook, 
stood  the  tent  of  the  captain  and  his  companions,  with  their 
horses  feeding  around  it;  but  they  themselves  were  invisible. 
Wright,  their  muleteer,  was  there,  seated  on  the  tongue  of 
the  wagon  repairing  his  harness.  Boisverd  stood  cleaning 
his  rifle  at  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  Sorel  lounged  idly 
about.  On  closer  examination,  however,  wre  discovered  the 
captain's  brother,  Jack,  sitting  in  the  tent,  at  his  old  occupa- 
tion of  splicing  trail-ropes.  He  welcomed  us  in  his  broad 
Irish  brogue,  and  said  that  his  brother  was  fishing  in  the 
river  and  R.  gone  to  the  garrison.  They  returned  before 
sunset.  Meanwhile  we  erected  our  own  tent  not  far  off, 
and  after  sapper  a  council  was  held,  in  which  it  was  resolved 
to  remain  one  day  at  Fort  Leavenworth,  and  on  the  next 
to  bid  a  final  adieu  to  the  frontier;  or  in  the  phraseology 
of  the  region,  to  "jump  off!"  Our  deliberations  were  con- 
ducted by  the  ruddy  light  from  a  distant  swell  of  the  prairie, 
where  the  long  dry  grass  of  last  summer  was  on  fire. 


CHAPTER    III 

FORT    LEAVENWORTH 

On  the  next  morning  we  rode  to  Fort  Leavenworth 
Colonel,  now  General  Kearny,1  to  whom  I  had  had  the  honor 
of  an  introduction  when  at  St.  Louis,  was  just  arrived,  and 
received  us  at  his  quarters  with  the  high-bred  courtesy  habit- 
ual to  him.  Fort  Leavenworth  is  in  fact  no  fort,  being  with- 
out defensive  works,  except  two  block-houses.  No  rumor 
of  war  had  as  yet  disturbed  its  tranquillity.  In  the  squa 
grassy  area,  surrounded  by  barracks  and  the  quarters  of  the 
officers,  the  men  were  passing  and  repassing,  or  lounging 
among  the  trees;  although  not  many  weeks  afterward  it  pre- 
sented a  different  scene,  for  here  the  very  offscourings  of  th 
frontier  were  congregated,  to  be  marshaled  for  the  expedition 
against  Santa  Fe. 

Passing  through  the  garrison,  we  rode  toward  the  Kick- 
apoo  village,2  five  or  six  miles  beyond.  The  path,  a  rather 
dubious  and  uncertain  one,  led  us  along  the  ridge  of  high 
bluffs  that  bordered  the  Missouri ;  and  by  looking  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left,  we  could  enjoy  a  strange  contrast  of 
opposite  scenery.  On  the  left  stretched  the  prairie,  rising 
into  swells  and  undulations,  thickly  sprinkled  with  groves 
or  gracefully  expanding  into  \vide  grassy  basins  of  miles  in 
extent;  while  its  curvatures,  swelling  against  the  horizon, 
were  often  surmounted  by  lines  of  sunny  woods ;  a  scene  to 
which  the  freshness  of  the  season  and  the  peculiar  mellow- 
ness of  the  atmosphere  gave  additional  softness.  Below  us, 
on  the  right,  was  a  tract  of  ragged  and  broken  woods. 
We  could  look  down  on  the  summits  of  the  trees,  some  liv- 

1Stephen  W.  Kearny,  uncle  of  General  Philip  Kearny. 

2In  the  present  Kickapoo  township,  Leavenworth  County,  Kansas. 

40 


FORT  LEAVENWORTH  41 

ing  and  some  dead ;  some  erect,  others  leaning  at  every  angle, 
and  others  still  piled  in  masses  together  by  the  passage  of  a 
hurricane.  Beyond  their  extreme  verge,  the  turbid  waters 
of  the  Missouri  were  discernible  through  the  boughs,  rolling 
powerfully  along  at  the  foot  of  the  woody  declivities  on  its 
farther  bank. 

The  path  soon  after  led  inland;  and  as  we  crossed  an 
open  meadow  we  saw  a  cluster  of  buildings  on  a  rising 
ground  before  us,  with  a  crowd  of  people  surrounding  them. 
They  were  the  storehouse,  cottage,  and  stables  of  the  Kick- 
apoo  trader's  establishment.  Just  at  that  moment,  as  it 
chanced,  he  was  beset  with  half  the  Indians  of  the  settle- 
ment. They  had  tied  their  wretched,  neglected  little  ponies 
by  dozens  along  the  fences  and  outhouses,  and  were  either 
lounging  about  the  place  or  crowding  into  the  trading-house. 
Here  were  faces  of  various  colors;  red,  green,  white,  and 
black,  curiously  intermingled  and  disposed  over  the  visage 
in  a  variety  of  patterns.  Calico  shirts,  red  and  blue  blankets, 
brass  ear-rings,  wampum  necklaces,  appeared  in  profusion. 
The  trader  was  a  blue-eyed,  open-faced  man,  who  neither 
in  his  manners  nor  his  appearance  betrayed  any  of  the  rough- 
ness of  the  frontier;  though  just  at  present  he  was  obliged 
to  keep  a  lynx  eye  on  his  supicious  customers,  who,  men  and 
women,  were  climbing  on  his  counter,  and  seating  them- 
selves among  his  boxes  and  bales. 

The  village  itself  was  not  far  off,  and  sufficiently  illus- 
trated the  condition  of  its  unfortunate  and  self-abandoned 
occupants.  Fancy  to  yourself  a  little  swift  stream,  work- 
ing its  devious  way  down  a  woody  valley,  sometimes  wholly 
hidden  under  logs  and  fallen  trees,  sometimes  issuing  forth 
and  spreading  into  a  broad,  clear  pool ;  and  on  its  banks,  in 
little  nooks  cleared  away  among  the  trees,  miniature  log- 
houses  in  utter  ruin  and  neglect.  A  labyrinth  of  narrow, 
obstructed  paths  connected  these  habitations  one  with  another. 
Sometimes  we  met  a  stray  calf  a  pig  or  a  pony,  belonging 


42  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

to  some  of  the  villagers,  who  usually  lay  in  the  sun  in  front 
of  their  dwellings,  and  looked  on  us  with  cold,  suspicious 
eyes  as  we  approached.  Farther  on,  in  place  of  the  log-huts 
of  the  Kickapoos,  we  found  the  pukwi1  lodges  of  their  neigh- 
bors, the  Potawatomis,  whose  condition  seemed  no  better 
than  theirs. 

Growing  tired  at  last,  and  exhausted  by  the  excessive 
heat  and  sultriness  of  the  day,  we  returned  to  our  friend, 
the  trader.  By  this  time  the  crowd  around  him  had  dis- 
persed, and  left  him  at  leisure.  He  invited  us  to  his  cottage, 
a  little  white-and-green  building  in  the  style  of  the  old 
French  settlements,  and  ushered  us  into  a  neat,  well-fur- 
nished room.  The  blinds  were  closed  and  the  heat  and 
glare  of  the  sun  excluded ;  the  room  was  as  cool  as  a  cavern. 
It  was  neatly  carpeted,  too,  and  furnished  in  a  manner  that 
we  hardly  expected  on  the  frontier.  The  sofas,  chairs,  tables, 
and  a  well-filled  bookcase  would  not  have  disgraced  an  east- 
ern city;  though  there  were  one  or  two  little  tokens  that 
indicated  the  rather  questionable  civilization  of  the  region. 
A  pistol,  loaded  and  capped,  lay  on  the  mantelpiece;  and 
through  the  glass  of  the  bookcase,  peeping  above  the  works 
of  John  Milton,  glittered  the  handle  of  a  very  mischievous- 
looking  knife. 

Our  host  went  out,  and  returned  with  iced  water,  glasses, 
and  a  bottle  of.  excellent  claret,  a  refreshment  most  welcome 
in  the  extreme7 heat  of  the  day;  and  soon  after  appeared  a 
merry,  laughing  woman,  who  must  have  been,  a  year  or  two 
before,  a  very  rich  and  luxuriant  specimen  of  Creole  beauty. 
She  came  to  say  that  lunch  was  ready  in  the  next  room. 
Our  hostess  evidently  lived  on  the  sunny  side  of  life,  and 
troubled  herself  with  none  of  its  cares.  She  sat  down  and 
entertained  us  while  we  were  at  table  with  anecdotes  of 
fishing  parties,  frolics,  and  the  officers  at  the  fort.  Taking 

lAn  Indian  term  of  uncertain  meaning:  here,  probably,  a  small  temporary 
shelter. 


FORT  LEAVENWORTH  43 

leave  at  length  of  the  hospitable  trader  and  his  friend,  we 
rode  back  to  the  garrison. 

Shaw  passed  on  to  the  camp,  while  I  remained  to  call 
upon  Colonel  Kearny.  I  found  him  still  at  table.  There 
sat  our  friend  the  captain,  in  the  same  remarkable  habili- 
ments in  which  we  saw  him  at  Westport;  the  black  pipe, 
however,  being  for  the  present  laid  aside.  He  dangled  his 
little  cap  in  his  hand  and  talked  of  steeple-chases,  touching 
occasionally  upon  his  anticipated  exploits  in  buffalo-hunting. 
There,  too,  was  R.,  somewhat  more  elegantly  attired.  For 
the  last  time  we  tasted  the  luxuries  of  civilization,  and  drank 
adieus  to  it  in  wine  good  enough  to  make  us  almost  regret 
the  leave-taking.  Then,  mounting,  we  rode  together  to  the 
camp,  where  everything  was  in  readiness  for  departure  on 
the  morrow. 


CHAPTER    IV 

"JUMPING    OFF" 

The  reader  need  not  be  told  that  John  Bull  never  leaves 
home  without  encumbering  himself  with  the  greatest  pos- 
sible load  of  luggage.  Our  companions  were  no  exception 
to  the  rule.  They  had  a  wagon  drawn  by  six  mules  and 
crammed  with  provisions  for  six  months,  besides  ammuni- 
tion enough  for  a  regiment;  spare  rifles  and  fowling-pieces, 
ropes  and  harness;  personal  baggage,  and  a  miscellaneous 
assortment  of  articles,  which  produced  infinite  embarrassment 
on  the  journey.  They  had  also  decorated  their  persons  with 
telescopes  and  portable  compasses,  and  carried  English  double- 
barreled  rifles  of  sixteen  to  the  pound  calibre,  slung  to  their 
saddles  in  dragoon  fashion. 

By  sunrise  on  the  twenty-third  of  May  we  had  break- 
fasted; the  tents  were  leveled,  the  animals  saddled  and  har- 
nessed, and  all  was  prepared.  " Avance  done!  get  up!"  cried 
Deslauriers  from  his  seat  in  front  of  the  cart.  Wright,  our 
friends'  muleteer,  after  some  swearing  and  lashing,  got  his 
insubordinate  train  in  motion,  and  then  the  whole  party  filed 
from  the  ground.  Thus  we  bade  a  long  adieu  to  bed  and 
board  and  the  principles  of  Blackstone's  Commentaries.1  The 
day  was  a  most  auspicious  one ;  and  yet  Shaw  and  I  felt 
certain  misgivings  which  in  the  sequel  proved  but  too  well 
founded.  We  had  just  learned  that  though  R.  had  taken  it 
upon  him  to  adopt  this  course  without  consulting  us,  not  a 
single  man  in  the  party  was  acquainted  with  it;  and  the 
absurdity  of  our  friend's  high-handed  measure  very  soon 
became  manifest.  His  plan  was  to  strike  the  trail  of  several 

*A  famous  treatise  on  English  law,  much  used  as  a  textbook.  To  ."bid 
adieu.... to  Blackstone's  Commentaries"  means  to  leave  civilization  behind. 

44 


JUMPING  OFF  45 

companies  of  dragoons,  who  last  summer  had  made  an 
expedition  under  Colonel  Kearny  to  Fort  Laramie,  and  by 
this  means  to  reach  the  grand  trail  of  the  Oregon  emigrants 
up  the  Platte. 

We  rode  for  an  hour  or  two,  when  a  familiar  cluster  of 
buildings  appeared  on  a  little  hill.  "Hallo!"  shouted  the 
Kickapoo  trader  from  over  his  fence,  "where  are  you  going?" 
A  few  rather  emphatic  exclamations  might  have  been  heard 
among  us,  when  we  found  that  we  had  gone  miles  out  of  our 
way,  and  were  not  advanced  an  inch  toward  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  So  we  turned  in  the  direction  the  trader  indi- 
cated, and  with  the  sun  for  a  guide,  began  to  trace  a  "bee 
line"  across  the  prairie.  We  struggled  through  copses  and 
lines  of  wood;  we  waded  brooks  and  pools  of  water;  we 
traversed  prairies  as  green  as  an  emerald,  expanding  before 
us  for  mile  after  mile,  wider  and  more  wild  than  the  wastes 
Mazeppa  rode  over : 

"Man  nor  brute, 

Nor  dint  of  hoof,  nor  print  of  foot, 

Lay  in  the  wild  luxuriant  soil; 

No 'sign  of  travel;  none  of  toil; 

The  very  air  was  mute."1 

Riding  in  advance,  we  passed  over  one  of  these  great 
plains;  we  looked  back  and  saw  the  line  of  scattered  horse- 
men stretching  for  a  mile  or  more ;  and  far  in  the  rear  against 
the  horizon,  the  white  wagons  creeping  slowly  along.  "Here 
we  are  at  last!"  shouted  the  captain.  And  in  truth  we  had 
struck  upon  the  traces  of  a  large  body  of  horse.  We  turned 
joyfully  and  followed  this  new  course,  with  tempers  some- 
what^ improved;  and  toward  sunset  encamped  on  a  high  swell 
of  the  prairie,  at  the  foot  of  which  a  lazy  stream  soaked  along 
through  clumps  of  rank  grass.  It  was  getting  dark.  We 
turned  the  horses  loose  to  feed.  "Drive  down  the  tent-pickets 
hard,"  said  Henry  Chatillon,  "it  is  going  to  blow."  We 
did  so,  and  secured  the  tent  as  well  as  we  could;  for  the  sky 

*From  Byron's  Mazeppa,  XVII,  lines  557-661. 


46  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

had  changed  totally,  and  a  fresh  damp  smell  in  the  wind 
warned  us  that  a  stormy  night  was  likely  to  succeed  the  hot 
clear  day.  The  prairie  also  wore  a  new  aspect,  and  its  vast 
swells  had  grown  black  and  somber  under  the  shadow  of  the 
clouds.  The  thunder  soon  began  to  growl  at  a  distance. 
Picketing  and  hobbling  the  horses  among  the  rich  grass  at 
the  foot  of  the  slope  where  we  encamped,  we  gained  a  shelter 
just  as  the  rain  began  to  fall,  and  sat  at  the  opening  of  the 
tent  watching  the  proceedings  of  the  captain.  In  defiance 
of  the  rain  he  was  stalking  among  the  horses,  wrapped  in 
an  old  Scotch  plaid.  An  extreme  solicitude  tormented  him 
lest  some  of  his  favorites  should  escape,  or  some  accident 
should  befall  them;  and  he  cast  an  anxious  eye  toward  three 
wolves  who  were  sneaking  along  over  the  dreary  surface  of 
the  plain,  as  if  he  dreaded  some  hostile  demonstration  on 
their  part. 

On  the  next  morning  we  had  gone  but  a  mile  or  two, 
when  we  came  to  an  extensive  belt  of  woods,  through  the 
midst  of  which  ran  a  stream,  wide,  deep,  and  of  an  appear- 
ance particularly  muddy  and  treacherous.  Deslauriers  was  in 
advance  with  his  cart;  he  jerked  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
lashed  his  mules,  and  poured  forth  a  volley  of  Canadian 
ejaculations.  In  plunged  the  cart,  but  midway  it  stuck  fast. 
Deslauriers  leaped  out  knee-deep  in  water,  and  by  dint  of 
sqcres  and  a  vigorous  application  of  the  whip,  he  urged  the 
mules  out  of  the  slough.  Then  approached  the  long  team 
and  heavy  wagon  of  our  friends ;  but  it  paused  on  the  brink. 

"Now  my  advice  is "  began  the  captain,  who  had 

been  anxiously  contemplating  the  muddy  gulf. 

"Drive  on!"  cried  R. 

But  Wright,  the  muleteer,  apparently  had  not  as  yet 
decided  the  point  in  his  own  mind;  and  he  sat  still  in  his 
seat  on  one  of  the  shaft-mules,  whistling  in  a  low  contem- 
plative strain  to  himself. 

"My  advice  is,"  resumed  the  captain,  "that  we  unload; 


JUMPING  OFF  47 

for  I'll  bet  any  man  five  pounds  that  if  we  try  to  go  through, 
we  shall  stick  fast." 

"By  the  powers,  we  shall  stick  fast!"  echoed  Jack,  the  cap- 
tain's brother,  shaking  his  large  head  with  an  air  of  firm 
conviction. 

"Drive  on!  drive  on!"  cried  R.,  petulantly. 

"Well,"  observed  the  captain,  turning  to  us  as  we  sat 
looking  on,  much  edified  by  this  by-play  among  our  con- 
federates. "I  can  only  give  my  advice,  and  if  people  won't 
be  reasonable,  why,  they  won't;  that's  all!" 

Meanwhile  Wright  had  apparently  made  up  his  mind; 
for  he  suddenly  began  to  shout  forth  a  volley  of  oaths  and 
curses  that,  compared  with  the  French  imprecations  of  Des- 
lauriers,  sounded  like  the  roaring  of  heavy  cannon  after  the 
popping  and  sputtering  of  a  bunch  of  Chinese  crackers.  At 
the  same  time  he  discharged  a  shower  of  blows  upon  his 
mules,  who  hastily  dived  into  the  mud  and  drew  the  wagon 
lumbering  after  them.  For  a  moment  the  issue  was  dubious. 
Wright  writhed  about  in  his  saddle,  and  swore  and  lashed 
like  a  madman ;  but  who  can  count  on  a  team  of  half-broken 
mules?  At  the  most  critical  point,  when  all  should  have 
been  harmony  and  combined  effort,  the  perverse  brutes  fell 
into  lamentable  disorder,  and  huddled  together  in  confusion 
on  the  farther  bank.  There  was  the  wagon  up  to  the  hub 
in  mud,  and  visibly  settling  every  instant.  There  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  unload ;  then  to  dig  away  the  mud  from 
before  the  wheels  with  a  spade,  and  lay  a  causeway  of  bushes 
and  branches.  This  agreeable  labor  accomplished,  the  wagon 
at  length  emerged ;  but  if  I  mention  that  some  interruption 
of  this  sort  occurred  at  least  four  or  five  times  a  day  for  a 
fortnight,  the  reader  will  understand  that  our  progress  toward 
the  Platte  was  no*"  without  its  obstacles. 

We  traveled  six  or  sevett  *niles  farther,  and  "nooned" 
near  a  brook.  On  the  point  of  resuming  our  journey,  when 
the  horses  were  all  driven  down  to  water,  mv  Wnesick 


48  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

charger  Pontiac  made  a  sudden  leap  across,  and  set  off  at  a 
round  trot  for  the  settlements,  I  mounted  my  remaining 
horse,  and  started  in  pursuit.  Making  a  circuit,  I  headed 
the  runaway,  hoping  to  drive  him  back  to  camp;  but  he 
instantly  broke  into  a  gallop,  made  a  wide  tour  on  the  prairie, 
and  got  past  me  again.  I  tried  this  plan  repeatedly,  with 
the  same  result;  Pontiac  was  evidently  disgusted  with  the 
prairie;  so  I  abandoned  it,  and  tried  another,  trotting  along 
gently  behind  him,  in  hopes  that  I  might  quietly  get  near 
enough  to  seize  the  trail-rope  which  was  fastened  to  his  neck, 
and  dragged  about  a  dozen  feet  behind  him.  The  chase 
grew  interesting.  For  mile  after  mile  I  followed  the  rascal, 
with  the  utmost  care  not  to  alarm  him,  and  gradually  got 
nearer,  until  at  length  old  Hendrick's  nose  was  fairly  brushed 
by  the  whisking  tail  of  the  unsuspecting  Pontiac.  Without 
drawing  rein,  I  slid  softly  to  the  ground ;  but  my  long  heavy 
rifle  encumbered  me,  and  the  low  sound  it  made  in  striking 
the  horn  of  the  saddle  startled  him;  he  pricked  up  his  ears, 
and  sprang  off  at  a  run.  "My  friend,"  thought  I,  remount- 
ing, "do  that  again,  and  I  will  shoot  you !" 

Fort  Leavenworth  was  about  forty  miles  distant,  and 
thither  I  determined  to  follow  him.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  spend  a  solitary  and  supperless  night,  and  then  set  out 
again  in  the  morning.  One  hope,  however,  remained.  The 
creek  where  the  wagon  had  stuck  was  just  before  us;  Pontiac 
might  be  thirsty  with  his  run,  and  stop  there  to  drink.  I 
kept  as  near  to  him  as  possible,  taking  every  precaution  not 
to  alarm  him  again,  and  the  result  proved  as  I  had  hoped; 
for  he  walked  deliberately  among  the  trees,  and  stooped  down 
to  the  water.  I  alighted,  dragged  old  Hendrick  through  the 
mud,  and  with  a  feeling  of  infinite  satisfaction  picked  up  the 
slimy  trail-rope,  and  twisted  it  three  times  round  my  hand. 
"Now  let  me  see  you  get  away  again !"  I  thought,  as  I 
remounted.  But  Pontiac  was  exceedingly  reluctant  to  turn 
back;  Hendrick,  too,  who  had  evidently  flattered  himself 


JUMPING  OFF  49 

with  vain  hopes,  showed  the  utmost  repugnance,  and  grum- 
bled in  a  manner  peculiar  to  himself  at  being  compelled  to 
face  about.  A  smart  cut  of  the  whip  restored  his  cheerful- 
ness; and  dragging  the  recovered  truant  behind,  I  set  out  in 
search  of  the  camp.  An  hour  or  two  elapsed,  when,  near 
sunset,  I  saw  the  tents,  standing  on  a  rich  swell  of  the  prairie 
beyond  a  line  of  woods,  while  the  bands  of  horses  were  feed- 
ing in  a  low  meadow  close  at  hand.  There  sat  Jack  C., 
cross-legged,  in  the  sun,  splicing  a  trail-rope,  and  the  rest 
were  lying  on  the  grass,  smoking  and  telling  stories.  That 
night  we  enjoyed  a  serenade  from  the  wolves,  more  lively 
than  any  with  which  they  had  yet  favored  us;  and  in  the 
morning  one  of  the  musicians  appeared,  not  many  rods  from 
the  tents,  quietly  seated  among  the  horses,  looking  at  us  with 
a  pair  of  large  gray  eyes ;  but  perceiving  a  rifle  leveled  at  him, 
he  leaped  up  and  made  off  in  hot  haste. 

I  pass  by  the  following  day  or  two  of  our  journey,  for 
nothing  occurred  worthy  of  record.  Should  any  one  of  my 
readers  ever  be  impelled  to  visit  the  prairies,  and  should  he 
choose  the  route  of  the  Platte  (the  best,  perhaps,  that  can  be 
adopted),  I  can  assure  him  that  he  need  not  think  to  enter 
at  once  upon  the  paradise  of  his  imagination.  A  dreary  pre- 
liminary, a  protracted  crossing  of  the  threshold,  awaits  him 
before  he  finds  himself  fairly  upon  the  verge  of  the  "great 
American  desert" ;  those  barren  wastes,  the  haunts  of  the 
buffalo  and  the  Indian,  where  the  very  shadow  of  civiliza- 
tion lies  a  hundred  leagues  behind  him.  The  intervening 
country,  the  wide  and  fertile  belt  that  extends  for  several 
hundred  miles  beyond  the  extreme  frpntier,  will  probably 
answer  tolerably  well  to  his  preconceived  ideas  of  the  prairie  ; 
for  this  it  is  from  which  picturesque  tourists,  painters,  poets, 
and  novelists,  who  have  seldom  penetrated  farther,  have 
derived  their  conceptions  of  the  whole  region.  If  he  has  a 
painter's  eye,  he  may  find  his  period  of  probation  not  wholly 
void  of  interest.  The  scenery,  though  tame,  is  graceful  and 


50  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

pleasing.  Here  are  level  plains  too  wide  for  the  eye  to 
measure;  green  undulations  like  motionless  swells  of  the 
ocean ;  abundance  of  streams,  followed  through  all  their  wind- 
ings by  lines  of  woods  and  scattered  groves.  But  let  him 
be  as  enthusiastic  as  he  may,  he  will  find  enough  to  damp 
his  ardor.  His  wagons  will  stick  in  the  mud ;  his  horses  will 
break  loose;  harness  will  give  way  and  axle-trees  prove 
unsound.  His  bed  will  be  a  soft  one,  consisting  often  of 
black  mud  of  the  richest  consistency.  As  for  food,  he  must 
content  himself  with  biscuit  and  salt  provisions ;  for,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  this  tract  of  country  produces  very  little  game. 
As  he  advances,  indeed,  he  will  see,  moldering  in  the  grass 
by  his  path,  the  vast  antlers  of  the  elk,  and  farther  on,  the 
whitened  skulls  of  the  buffalo,  once  swarming  over  this  now 
deserted  region.  Perhaps,  like  us,  he  may  journey  for  a  fort- 
night, and  see  not  so  much  as  the  hoof-print  of  a  deer ;  in  the 
spring  not  even  a  prairie  hen  is  to  be  had. 

Yet,  to  compensate  him  for  this  unlooked-for  deficiency 
of  game,  he  willfind  himself  beset  with  "varmints"  innu- 
merable. The  wolves  will  entertain  him  with  a  concerto1 
at  night,  and  skulk  around  him  by  day  just  beyond  rifle-shot; 
his  horse  will  step  into  badger-holes;  from  every  marsh  and 
mud-puddle  will  arise  the  bellowing,  croaking,  and  trilling 
of  legions  of  frogs,  infinitely  various  in  color,  shape,  and 
dimensions.  A  profusion  of  snakes  will  glide  away  from 
under  his  horse's  feet,  or  quietly  visit  him  in  his  tent  at  night ; 
while  the  pertinacious  humming  of  unnumbered  mosquitoes 
will  banish  sleep  from  his  eyelids.  When,  thirsty  with  a 
long  ride  in  the  scorching  sun  over  some  boundless  reach  of 
prairie,  he  comes  at  length  to  a  pool  of  water  and  alights  to 
drink,  he  discovers  a  troop  of  young  tadpoles  sporting  in  the 
bottom  of  his  cup.  Add  to  this,  that  all  the  morning  the 
sun  beats  upon  him  with  a  sultry,  penetrating  heat,  and  that, 
with  provoking  regularity,  at  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 

»Concert. 


JUMPING  OFF  51 

noon,  a  thunderstorm  rises  and  drenches  him  to  the  skin. 
Such  being  the  charms  of  this  favored  region,  the  reader 
will  easily  conceive  the  extent  of  our  gratification  at  learning 
that  for  a  week  we  had  been  journeying  on  the  wrong  track! 
How  this  agreeable  discovery  was  made  I  will  presently 
explain. 

One  day,  after  a  protracted  morning's  ride,  we  stopped 
to  rest  at  noon  upon  the  open  prairie.  No  trees  were  in 
sight;  but  close  at  hand,  a  little  dribbling  brook  was  twisting 
from  side  to  side  through  a  hollow,  now  forming  holes  of 
stagnant  water,  and  now  gliding  over  the  mud  in  a  scarcely 
perceptible  current,  among  a  growth  of  sickly  bushes  and 
great  clumps  of  tall  rank  grass.  The  day  was  excessively 
hot  and  oppressive.  The  horses  and  mules  were  rolling  on 
the  prairie  to  refresh  themselves,  or  feeding  among  the  bushes 
in  the  hollow.  We  had  dined ;  and  Deslauriers,  puffing  at 
his  pipe,  knelt  on  the  grass,  scrubbing  our  service  of  tin  plate. 
Shaw  lay  in  the  shade,  under  the  cart,  to  rest  for  a  while, 
before  the  word  should  be  given  to  "catch  up."1  Henry 
Chatillon,  before  lying  down,  was  looking  about  for  signs 
of  snakes,  the  only  living  things  that  he  feared,  and  uttering 
various  ejaculations  of  disgust  at  finding  several  suspicious- 
looking  holes  close  to  the  cart.  I  sat  leaning  against  the 
wheel  in  a  scanty  strip  of  shade,  making  a  pair  of  hobbles 
to  replace  those  which  my  contumacious  steed  Pontiac  had 
broken  the  night  before.  The  camp  of  our  friends,  a  rod  or 
two  distant,  presented  the  same  scene  of  lazy  tranquillity. 

"Hallo!"  cried  Henry,  looking  up  from  his  inspection  of 
the  snake-holes,  "here  comes  the  old  captain!" 

The  captain  approached,  and  stood  for  a  moment  con- 
templating us  in  silence. 

"I  say,  Parkman,"  he  began,  "look  at  Shaw  there,  asleep 
under  the  cart,  with  the  tar  dripping  off  the  hub  of  the  wheel 
on  his  shoulder!" 

1Saddle,  make  ready. 


52  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

At  this  Shaw  got  up,  with  his  eyes  half  opened,  and  feel- 
ing the  part  indicated,  he  found  his  hand  glued  fast  to  his 
red  flannel  shirt. 

"He'll  look  well  when  he  gets  among  the  squaws,  won't 
he?"  observed  the  captain,  with  a  grin. 

He  then  crawled  under  the  cart  and  began  to  tell  stories, 
of  which  his  stock  was  inexhaustible.  Yet  every  moment 
he  would  glance  nervously  at  the  horses.  At  last  he  jumped 
up  in  great  excitement.  "See  that  horse!  There — that  fel- 
low just  walking  over  the  hill!  By  Jove!  he's  off.  It's  your 
big  horse,  Shaw;  no  it  isn't,  it's  Jack's!  Jack!  Jack!  hallo, 
Jack!"  Jack,  thus  invoked,  jumped  up  and  stared  vacantly 
at  us. 

"Go  and  catch  your  horse,  if  you  don't  want  to  lose  him !" 
roared  the  captain. 

Jack  instantly  set  off  at  a  run  through  the  grass,  his 
broad  pantaloons  flapping  about  his  feet.  The  captain  gazed 
anxiously  till  he  saw  that  the  horse  was  caught;  then  he  sat 
down,  with  a,  countenance  of  thoughtfulness  and  care. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  said,  "this  will  never  do  at  all. 
We  shall  lose  every  horse  in  the  band  some  day  or  other, 
and  then  a  pretty  plight  we  should  be  in !  Now  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  only  way  for  us  is  to  have  every  man  in  the 
camp  stand  horse-guard  in  rotation  whenever  we  stop.  Sup- 
posing a  hundred  Pawnees  should  jump  up  out  of  that  ravine, 
all  yelling  and  flapping  their  buffalo  robes,  in  the  way  they 
do?  Why,  in  two  minutes  not  a  hoof  would  be  in  sight." 
We  reminded  the  captain  that  a  hundred  Pawnees  would 
probably  demolish  the  horse-guard,  if  he  were  to  resist  their 
depredations. 

"At  any  rate,"  pursued  the  captain,  evading  the  poirit, 
"our  whole  system  is  wrong;  I'm  convinced  of  it;  it  is  totally 
unmilitary.  Why,  the  way  we  travel,  strung  out  over  the 
prairie  for  a  mile,  an  enemy  might  attack  the  foremost  men, 
and  cut  them  off  before  the  rest  could  come  up." 


JUMPING  OFF  53 

We  are  not  in  an  enemy's  country  yet,"  said  Shaw: 
"when  we  are,  we'll  travel  together." 

"Then,"  said  the  captain,  "we  might  be  attacked  in  camp. 
We've  no  sentinels ;  we  camp  in  disorder ;  no  precautions  at 
all  to  guard  against  surprise.  My  own  convictions  are  that 
we  ought  to  camp  in  a  hollow  square,  with  the  fires  in  the 
center;  and  have  sentinels  and  a  regular  password  appointed 
for  every  night.  Besides,  there  should  be  vedettes,  riding  in 
advance,  to  find  a  place  for  the  camp  and  give  warning  of  an 
enemy.  These  are  my  convictions.  I  don't  want  to  dictate 
to  any  man.  I  give  advice  to  the  best  of  my  judgment,  that's 
all;  and  then  let  people  do  as  they  please." 

We  intimated  that  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  post- 
pone such  burdensome  precautions  until  there  should  be  some 
actual  need  of  them;  but  he  shook  his  head  dubiously.  The 
captain's  sense  of  military  propriety  had  been  severely  shocked 
by  what  he  considered  the  irregular  proceedings  of  the  party ; 
and  this  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  expressed  himself  upon 
the  subject.  But  his  convictions  seldom  produced  any  prac- 
tical results.  In  the  present  case,  he  contented  himself,  as 
usual,  with  enlarging  on  the  importance  of  his  suggestions, 
and  wondering  that  they  were  not  adopted.  But  his  plan  of 
sending  out  vedettes  seemed  particularly  dear  to  him ;  and  as 
no  one  else  was  disposed  to  second  his  views  on  this  point,  he 
took  it  into  his  head  to  ride  forward  that  afternoon,  himself. 

"Come,  Parkman,"  said  he,  "will  you  go  with  me?" 

We  set  out  together,  and  rode  a  mile  or  two  in  advance. 
The  captain,  in  the  course  of  twenty  years'  service  in  the 
British  army,  had  seen  something  of  life ;  one  extensive  side 
of  it,  at  least,  he  had  enjoyed  the  best  opportunities  for  study- 
ing; and  being  naturally  a  pleasant  fellow,  he  was  a  very 
entertaining  companion.  He  cracked  jokes  and  told  stories 
for  an  hour  or  two ;  until,  looking  back,  we  saw  the  prairie 
behind  us  stretching  away  to  the  horizon,  without  a  horse- 
man or  a  wagon  in  sight. 


54  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

"Now,"  said  the  captain,  "I  think  the  vedettes  had  bet- 
ter stop  till  the  main  body  comes  up." 

I  was  of  the  same  opinion.  There  was  a  thick  growth 
of  woods  just  before  us,  with  a  stream  running  through  them. 
Having  crossed  this,  we  found  on  the  other  side  a  fine  level 
meadow,  half  encircled  by  the  trees ;  and  fastening  our  horses 
to  some  bushes,  we  sat  down  on  the  grass,  while,  with  an 
old  stump  of  a  tree  for  a  target,  I  began  to  display  the  supe- 
riority of  the  renowned  rifle  of  the  backwoods  over  the 
foreign  innovation  borne  by  the  captain.  At  length  voices 
could  be  heard  in  the  distance  behind  the  trees. 

"There  they  come!"  said  the  captain:  "let's  go  and  see 
how  they  get  through  the  creek." 

We  mounted  and  rode  to  the  bank  of  the  stream,  where 
the  trail  crossed  it.  It  ran  in  a  deep  hollow,  full  of  trees; 
as  we  looked  down,  we  saw  a  confused  crowd  of  horsemen 
riding  through  the  water;  and  among  the  dingy  habiliments 
of  our  party  glittered  the  uniforms  of  four  dragoons. 

Shaw  came  whipping  his  horse  up  the  back,  in  advance 
of  the  rest,  with  a  somewhat  indignant  countenance.  The 
first  word  he  spoke  was  a  blessing  fervently  invoked  on  the 
head  of  R.,  who  was  riding,  with  a  crestfallen  air,  in  the  rear. 
Thanks  to  the  ingenious  devices  of  the  gentleman,  we  had 
missed  the  track  entirely,  and  wandered,  not  toward  the 
Platte,  but  to  the  village  of  the  Iowa  Indians.  This  we 
learned  from  the  dragoons,  who  had  lately  deserted  from 
Fort  Leavenworth.  They  told  us  that  our  best  plan  now  was 
to  keep  to  the  northward  until  we  should  strike  the  trail 
formed  by  several  parties  of  Oregon  emigrants,  who  had  that 
season  set  out  from  St.  Joseph,  in  Missouri. 

In  extremely  bad  temper,  we  encamped  on  this  ill-starred 
spot,  while  the  deserters,  whose  case  admitted  of  no  delay, 
rode  rapidly  forward.  On  the  day  following,  striking  the 
St.  Joseph  trail,  we  turned  our  horses'  heads  toward  Fort 
Laramie,  then  about  seven  hundred  miles  to  the  westward. 


CHAPTER   V 
THE  "BIG  BLUE" 

The  great  medley  of  Oregon  and  California  emigrants, 
at  their  camps  around  Independence,  had  heard  reports  that 
several  additional  parties  were  on  the  point  of  setting  out  from 
St.  Joseph,  farther  to  the  northward.  The  prevailing  im- 
pression was  that  these  were  Mormons,  twenty-three  hundred 
in  number;  and  a  great  alarm  was  excited  in  consequence. 
The  people  of  Illinois  and  Missouri,  who  composed  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  the  emigrants,  have  never  been  on  the  best 
terms  with  the  "Latter  Day  Saints"1;  and  it  is  notorious 
throughout  the  country  how  much  blood  has  been  spilt  in 
their  feuds,  even  far  within  the  limits  of  the  settlements.  No 
one  could  predict  what  would  be  the  result,  when  large  armed 
bodies  of  these  fanatics  should  encounter  the  most  impetuous 
and  reckless  of  their  old  enemies  on  the  broad  prairie,  far 
beyond  the  reach  of  law  or  military  force.  The  women  and 
children  at  Independence  raised  a  great  outcry ;  the  men  them- 
selves were  seriously  alarmed ;  and,  as  I  learned,  they  sent  to 
Colonel  Kearny  requesting  an  escort  of  dragoons  as  far  as 
the  Platte.  This  was  refused;  and  as  the  sequel  proved, 
there  was  no  occasion  for  it.  The  St.  Joseph  emigrants  were 
as  good  Christians  and  as  zealous  Mormon-haters  as  the  rest; 
and  the  very  few  families  of  the  "Saints"  who  passed  out  this 
season  by  the  route  of  the  Platte  remained  behind  until  the 
great  tide  of  emigration  had  gone  by;  standing  in  quite  as 
much  awe  of  the  "Gentiles"2  as  the  latter  did  of  them. 

JThe  name  of  the  Mormon  Church  is  "The  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  of 
Latter-Day  Saints."  The  Mormons  had  been  expelled  from  their  home  at  Nauyoo, 
Illinois,  at  the  end  of  1845,  and  were  on  their  way  to  Utah.  The  feeling  against 
them  was  at  this  time  very  bitter. 

2Non-Mormons. 

55 


56  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

We  were  now,  as  I  before  mentioned,  upon  this  St.  Joseph 
trail.  It  was  evident,  by  the  traces,  that  large  parties  were 
a  few  days  in  advance  of  us;  and  as  we  too  supposed  them 
to  be  Mormons,  we  had  some  apprehension  of  interruption. 

The  journey  was  somewhat  monotonous.  One  day  we 
rode  on  for  hours,  without  seeing  a  tree  or  a  bush;  before, 
behind,  and  on  either  side  stretched  the  vast  expanse,  rolling 
in  a  succession  of  graceful  swells,  covered  with  the  unbroken 
carpet  of  fresh  green  grass.  Here  and  there  a  crow,  or  a 
raven,  or  a  turkey-buzzard  relieved  the  uniformity. 

"What  shall  we  do  to-night  for  wood  and  water  ?"  we 
began  to  ask  of  each  other;  for  the  sun  was  within  an  hour 
of  setting.  At  length  a  dark  green  speck  appeared,  .far  off 
on  the  right;  it  was  the  top  of  a  tree,  peering  over  a  swell 
of  the  prairie;  and  leaving  the  trail,  we  made  all  haste 
toward  it.  It  proved  to  be  the  vanguard  of  a  cluster  of 
bushes  and  low  trees,  that  surrounded  some  pools  of  water 
in  an  extensive  hollow;  so  we  encamped  on  the  rising 
ground  near  it. 

Shaw  and  I  were  sitting  in  the  tent,  when  Deslauriers 
thrust  his  brown  face  and  old  felt  hat  into  the  opening,  and 
dilating  his  eyes  to  their  utmost  extent,  announced  supper. 
There  were  the  tin  cups  and  the  iron  spoons,  arranged  in 
military  order  on  the  grass,  and  the  coffee-pot  predominant 
in  the  midst.  The  meal  was  soon  dispatched ;  but  Henry 
Chatillon  still  sat  cross-legged,  dallying  with  the  remnant 
of  his  coffee,  the  beverage  in  universal  use  upon  the  prairie, 
and  an  especial  favorite  with  him.  He  preferred  it  in  its 
virgin  flavor,  unimpaired  by  sugar  or  cream;  and  on  the 
present  occasion  it  met  his  entire  approval,  being  exceed- 
ingly strong,  or,  as  he  expressed  it,  "right  black." 

It  was  a  rich  and  gorgeous  sunset — an  American  sunset; 
and  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  sky  was  reflected  from  some 
extensive  pools  of  water  among  the  shadowy  copses  in  the 
meadow  below. 


ITHE  BIG  BLUE  57 

"I  must  have  a  bath  to-night,"  said  Shaw.  "How  is  it, 
"  Deslauriers?  Any  chance  for  a  swim  down  here?" 

"Ah !  I  cannot  tell;  just  as  you  please,  monsieur,"  replied 
Deslauriers,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  perplexed  by  his  igno- 
rance of  English,  and  extremely  anxious  to  conform  in  all 
respects  to  the  opinion  and  wishes  of  his  bourgeois. 

"Look  at  his  moccasin,"  said  I.  "It  has  evidently  been 
lately  immersed  in  a  profound  abyss  of  black  mud." 

"Come,"  said  Shaw;  "at  any  rate  we  can  see  for  our- 
selves." 

We  set  out  together ;  and  as  we  approached  the  bushes, 
which  were  at  some  distance,  we  found  the  ground  becom- 
ing rather  treacherous.  We  coukl  only  get  along  by  step- 
ping upon  large  clumps  of  tall  rank  glass,  with  fathomless 
gulfs  between,  like  innumerable  little  quaking  islands  in  an 
ocean  of  mud,  where  a  false  step  would  have  involved  our 
boots  in  a  catastrophe  like -that  which  had  befallen  Deslau- 
riers's  moccasins.  The  thing  looked  desperate;  we  sepa- 
rated so  as  to  search  in  different  directions,  Shaw  going 
off  to  the  right,  while  I  kept  straight  forward.  At  last  I 
came  to  the  edge  of  the  bushes:  they  were  young  water- 
willows,  covered  with  their  caterpillar-like  blossoms,  but 
intervening  between  them  and  the  last  grass  clump  was  a 
black  and  deep  slough,  over  which,  by  a  vigorous  exertion, 
I  contrived  to  jump.  Then  I  shouldered  my  way  through 
the  willows,  tramping  them  down  by  main  force,  till  I 
came  to  a  wide  stream  of  water,  three  inches  deep,  lan- 
guidly creeping  along  over  a  bottom  of  sleek  mud.  My 
arrival  produced  a  great  commotion.  A  huge  green  bull- 
frog uttered  an  indignant  croak,  and  jumped  off  the  bank 
with  a  loud  splash:  his  webbed  feet  twinkled  above  the 
surface,  as  he  jerked  them  energetically  upward,  and  I  could 
see  him  ensconcing  himself  in  the  unresisting  slime  at  the 
bottom,  whence  several  large  air  bubbles  struggled  lazily  to 
the  top.  Some  little  spotted  frogs  instantly  followed  the 


58  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

patriarch's  example;  and  then  three  turtles,  not  larger  than 
a  dollar,  tumbled  themselves  off  a  broad  "lily  pad"  where 
they  had  been  reposing.  At  the  same  time  a  snake,  gayly 
striped  with  black  and  yellow,  glided  out  from  the  bank 
and  writhed  across  to  the  other  side;  and  a  small  stagnant 
pool  into  which  my  foot  had  inadvertently  pushed  a  stone 
was  instantly  alive  with  a  congregation  of  black  tadpoles. 

"Any  chance  for  a  bath  where  you  are?"  called  out 
Shaw,  from  a  distance. 

The  answer  was  not  encouraging.  I  retreated  through 
the  willows,  and  rejoining  my  companion,  we  proceeded 
to  push  our  researches  in  company.  Not  far  on  the  right 
a  rising  ground,  covered  with  trees  and  bushes,  seemed  to 
sink  down  abruptly  to  the  water,  and  give  hope  of  better 
success;  so  toward  this  we  directed  our  steps.  When  we 
reached  the  place  we  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  get  along 
between  the  hill  and  the  water,  impeded  as  we  were  by  a 
growth  of  stiff,  obstinate  young  birch-trees,  laced  together 
by  grape-vines.  In  the  twilight  we  now  and  then,  to  sup- 
port ourselves,  snatched  at  the  touch-me-not  stem  of  some 
ancient  sweet-brier.  Shaw,  who  was  in  advance,  suddenly 
uttered  a  somewhat  emphatic  monosyllable ;  and  looking  up 
I  saw  him  with  one  hand  grasping  a  sapling,  and  one  foot 
immersed  in  the  water,  from  which  he  had  forgotten  to 
withdraw  it,  his  whole  attention  being  engaged  in  contem- 
plating the  movements  of  a  water-snake,  about  five  feet 
long,  curiously  checkered  with  black  and  green,  who  was 
deliberately  swimming  across  the  pool.  There  being  no  stick 
or  stone  at  hand  to  pelt  him  with,  we  looked  at  him  for  a 
time  in  silent  disgust;  and  then  pushed  forward.  Our  per- 
severance was  at  last  rewarded;  for  several  rods  farther  on, 
we  emerged  upon  a  little  level  grassy  nook  among  the 
brushwood,  and  by  an  extraordinary  dispensation  of  for- 
tune, the  weeds  and  floating  sticks,  which  elsewhere  cov- 
ered the  pool,  seemed  to  have  drawn  apart,  and  left  a  few 


THE  BIG  BLUE  59 

yards  of  clear  water  just  in  front  of  this  favored  spot.  We 
sounded  it  with  a  stick;  it  was  four  feet  deep;  we  lifted  a 
specimen  in  our  closed  hands;  it  seemed  reasonably  trans- 
parent, so  we  decided  that  the  time  for  action  was  arrived. 
But  our  ablutions  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  ten  thou- 
sand punctures,  like  poisoned  needles,  and  the  humming  of 
myriads  of  overgrown  mosquitoes,  rising  in  all  directions  from 
their  native  mud  and  slime  and  swarming  to  the  feast.  We 
were  fain  to  beat  a  retreat  with  all  possible  speed. 

We  made  toward  the  tents,  much  refreshed  by  the  bath 
which  the  heat  of  the  weather,  joined  to  our  prejudices, 
had  rendered  very  desirable. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  captain?  look  at  him!" 
said  Shaw.  The  captain  stood  alone  on  the  prairie,  swing- 
ing his  hat  violently  around  his  head,  and  lifting  first  one 
foot  and  then  the  other,  without  moving  from  the  spot. 
First  he  looked  down  to  the  ground  with  an  air  of  supreme 
abhorrence;  then  he  gazed  upward  with  a  perplexed  and 
indignant  countenance,  as  if  trying  to  trace  the  flight  of  an 
unseen  enemy.  We  called  to  know  what  was  the  matter; 
but  he  replied  only  by  execrations  directed  against  some 
unknown  object.  We  approached,  when  our  ears  were 
saluted  by  a  droning  sound,  as  if  twenty  bee-hives  had  been 
overturned  at  once.  The  air  above  was  full  of  large  black 
insect^,  in  a  state  of  great  commotion,  and  multitudes  were 
flying  about  just  above  the  tops  of  the  grass  blades. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  called  the  captain,  observing  us  recoil. 
"The  brutes  won't  sting." 

At  this  I  knocked  one  down  with  my  hat,  and  discovered 
him  to  be  no  other  than  a  "dor-bug";  and  looking  closer, 
we  found  the  ground  thickly  perforated  with  their  holes. 

We  took  a  hasty  leave  of  this  flourishing  colony,  and 
walking  up  the  rising  ground  to  the  tents,  found  Deslau- 
riers's  fire  still  glowing  brightly.  We  sat  down  around  it, 
and  Shaw  began  to  expatiate  on  the  admirable  facilities  for 


60  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

bathing  that  we  had  discovered,  and  recommended  the  cap- 
tain by  all  means  to  go  down  there  before  breakfast  in  the 
morning.  The  captain  was  in  the  act  of  remarking  that 
he  couldn't  have  believed  it  possible,  when  he  suddenly 
interrupted  himself  and  clapped  his  hand  to  his  cheek, 
exclaiming  that  "those  infernal  humbugs  were  at  him  again." 
In  fact,  we  began  to  hear  sounds  as  if  bullets  were  hum- 
ming over  our  heads.  In  a  moment  something  rapped  me 
sharply  on  the  forehead,  then  upon  the  neck,  and  immedi- 
ately I  felt  an  indefinite  number  of  sharp  wiry  claws  in 
active  motion,  as  if  their  owner  were  bent  on  pushing  his 
explorations  farther.  I  seized  him,  and  dropped  him  into 
the  fire.  Our  party  speedily  broke  up,  and  we  adjourned 
to  our  respective  tents,  where,  closing  the  opening  fast,  we 
hoped  to  be  exempt  from  invasion.  But  all  precaution  was 
fruitless.  The  dor-bugs  hummed  through  the  tent,  and 
marched  over  our  faces  until  daylight;  when,  opening  our 
blankets,  we  found  several  dozen  clinging  there  with  the 
utmost  tenacity.  The  first  object  that  met  our  eyes  in  the 
morning  was  Deslauriers,  who  seemed  to  be  apostrophizing 
his  frying  pan,  which  he  held  by  the  handle  at  arm's  length. 
It  appeared  that  he  had  left  it  at  night  by  the  fire  and  the 
bottom  was  now  covered  with  dor-bugs,  firmly  imbedded. 
Multitudes  beside,  curiously  parched  and  shriveled,  lay  scat- 
tered among  the  ashes. 

The  horses  and  mules  were  turned  loose  ;to  feed.  We 
had  just  taken  our  seats  at  breakfast,  or  rather  reclined  in 
the  classic  mode,  when  an  exclamation  from  Henry  Chatil- 
lon,  and  a  shout  of  alarm  from  the  captain,  gave  warning 
of  some  casualty,  and  looking  up,  we  saw  the  whole  band 
of  animals,  twenty-three  in  number,  filing  off  for  the  set- 
tlements, the  incorrigible  Pontiac  at  their  head,  jumping 
along  with  hobbled  feet,  at  a  gait  much  more  rapid  than 
graceful.  Three  or  four  of  us  ran  to  cut  them  off,  dashing 
as  best  we  might  through  the  tall  grass,  which  was  glitter- 


THE  BIG  BLUE  61 

ing  with  myriads  of  dewdrops.  After  a  race  of  a  mile  or 
more,  Shaw  caught  a  horse.  Tying  the  trail-rope  by  way  of 
bridle  round  the  animal's  jaw,  and  leaping  upon  his  back, 
he  got  in  advance  of  the  remaining  fugitives,  while  we,  soon 
bringing  them  together,  drove  them  in  a  crowd  up  to  the 
tents,  where  each  man  caught  and  saddled  his  own.  Then 
were  heard  lamentations  and  curses;  for  half  the  horses 
had  broke  their  hobbles,  and  many  were  seriously  galled 
by  attempting  to  run  in  fetters. 

It  was  late  that  morning  before  we  were  on  the  march ; 
and  early  in  the  afternoon  we  were  compelled  to  encamp, 
for  a  thunder-gust  came  up  and  suddenly  enveloped  us  in 
whirling  sheets  of  rain.  With  much  ado,  we  pitched  our 
tents  amid  the  tempest,  and  all  night  long  the  thunder  bel- 
lowed and  growled  over  our  heads.  In  the  morning,  light 
peaceful  showers  succeeded  the  cataracts  of  rain  that  had 
been  drenching  us  through  the  canvas  of  our  tents.  About 
noon,  when  there  were  some  treacherous  indications  of  fair 
weather,  we  got  in  motion  again. 

Not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  over  the  free  and  open  prairie ; 
the  clouds  were  like  light  piles  of  cotton;  and  where  the 
blue  sky  was  visible,  it  wore  a  hazy  and  languid  aspect. 
The  sun  beat  down  upon  us  with  a  sultry,  penetrating  heat 
almost  insupportable ;  and  as  our  party  crept  slowly  along 
over  the  interminable  level,  the  horses  hung  their  heads  as 
they  waded  fetlock  deep  through  the  mud,  and  the  men 
slouched  into  the  easiest  position  upon  the  saddle.  At  last, 
toward  evening,  the  old  familiar  black  heads  of  thunder- 
clouds rose  fast  above  the  horizon,  and  the  same  deep  mut- 
tering of  distant  thunder  that  had  become  the  ordinary 
accompaniment  of  our  afternoon's  journey  began  to  roll 
hoarsely  over  the  prairie.  Only  a  few  minutes  elapsed  before 
the  whole  sky  was  densely  shrouded,  and  the  prairie  and 
some  clusters  of  woods  in  front  assumed  a  purple  hue  beneath 
the  inky  shadows.  Suddenly  from  the  densest  fold  of  the 


62  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

cloud  the  flash  leaped  out,  quivering  again  and  again  down 
to  the  edge  of  the  prairie;  and  at  the  same  instant  came  the 
sharp  burst  and  the  long  rolling  peal  of  the  thunder.  A  cool 
wind,  filled  with  the  smell  of  rain,  just  then  overtook  us, 
leveling  the  tall  grass  by  the  side  of  the  path. 

"Come  on;  we  must  ride  for  it!"  shouted  Shaw,  rushing 
past  at  full  speed,  his  led  horse  snorting  at  his  side.  The 
whole  party  broke  into  full  gallop,  and  made  for  the  trees  •• 
in  front.  Passing  these,  we  found  beyond  them  a  meadow 
which  they  half  enclosed.  We  rode  pell-mell  upon  the 
ground,  leaped  from  horseback,  tore  off  our  saddles;  and  inj 
a  moment  each  man  was  kneeling  at  his  horse's  feet.  The 
hobbles  were  adjusted,  and  the  animals  turned  loose;  then 
as  the  wagons  came  wheeling  rapidly  to  the  spot,  we  seized 
upon  the  tent-poles,  and  just  as  the  storm  broke,  we  were 
prepared  to  receive  it.  It  came  upon  us  almost  writh  the 
darkness  of  night ;  the  trees,  which  were  close  at  hand,  were 
completely  shrouded  by  the  roaring  torrents  of  rain. 

We  were  sitting  in  the  tent,  when  Deslauriers,  with 
his  broad  felt  hat  hanging  about  his  ears  and  his  shoulders 
glistening  with  rain,  thrust  in  his  head. 

"Voulez-vous  du  souper,  tout  de  suite?1  I  can  make  a 
fire,  sous  la  charette1 — I  b'lieve  so — I  try." 

"Never  mind  supper,   man;  come  in  out  of  the  rain." 

Deslauriers  accordingly  crouched  in  the  entrance,  for 
modesty  would  not  permit  him  to  intrude  farther. 

Our  tent  was  none  of  the  best  defense  against  such  a 
cataract.  The  rain  could  not  enter  bodily,  but  it  beat 
through  the  canvass  in  a  fine 'drizzle  that  wetted  us  just  as 
effectually.  We  sat  upon  our  saddles  with  faces  of  the 
utmost  surliness,  while  the  water  dropped  from  the  visors 
of  our  caps  and  trickled  down  our  cheeks.  My  india- 
rubber  cloak  conducted  twenty  little  rapid  streamlets  to  the 

'"Will  you  have  supper  now?" 
2" Under  the  wagon." 


THE  BIG  BLUE  .        63 

ground,  and  Shaw's  blanket-coat  was  saturated  like  a  sponge. 
3ut  what  most  concerned  us  was  the  sight  of  several  pud- 
lies  of  water  rapidly  accumulating;  one  in  particular,  that 
vas  gathering  around  the  tent-pole,  threatened  to  overspread 
he  whole  area  within  the  tent,  holding  forth  but  an  indif- 
:erent  promise  of  a  comfortable  night's  rest.  Toward  sunset, 
lowever,  the  storm  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  began.  A  bright 
treak  of  clear  red  sky  appeared  above  the  western  verge  of 
he  prairie,  the  horizontal  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  streamed 
hrough  it  and  glittered  in  a  thousand  prismatic  colors  upon 
he  dripping  groves  and  the  prostrate  grass.  The  pools  in 
he  tent  dwindled  and  sunk  into  the  saturated  soil. 

But  all  our  hopes  were  delusive.  Scarcely  had  night  set 
n  when  the  tumult  broke  forth  anew.  The  thunder  here 
s  not  like  the  tame  thunder  of  the  Atlantic  coast.  Bursting 
vith  a  terrific  crash  directly  above  our  heads,  it  roared  over 
he  boundless  waste  of  prairie,  seeming  to  roll  around  the 
vhole  circle  of  the  firmament  with  a  peculiar  and  awful 
everberation.  The  lightning  flashed  all  night,  playing  with 
ts  livid  glare  upon  the  neighboring  trees,  revealing  the  vast 
xpanse  of  the  plain,  and  then  leaving  us  shut  in  as  by  a 
alpable  wall  of  darkness. 

It  did  not  disturb  us  much.  Now  and  then  a  peal  awak- 
ned  us,  and  made  us  conscious  of  the  electric  battle  that 
raging,  and  of  the  floods  that  dashed  upon  the  stanch 
anvas  over  our  heads.  We  lay  upon  india-rubber  cloths 
laced  between  our  blankets  and  the  soil.  For  awhile  they 
xcluded  the  water  to  admiration;  but  when  at  length  it 
ccumulated  and  began  to  run  over  the  edges,  they  served 
qually  well  to  retain  it,  so  that  toward  the  end  of  the  night 

were  unconsciously  reposing  in  small  pools  of  rain. 

On  finally  awakening  in  the  morning  the  prospect  was 
ot  a  cheerful  one.  The  rain  no  longer  poured  in  torrents; 
ut  it  pattered  with  a  quiet  pertinacity  upon  the  strained 
nd  saturated  canvas.  We  disengaged  ourselves  from  our 


64  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

blankets,  every  fibre  of  which  glistened  with  little  beadlike 
drops  of  water,  and  looked  out  in  vain  hope  of  discovering 
some  token   of   fair  weather.     The   clouds,   in   lead -colored 
volumes,  rested  upon  the  dismal  verge  of  the  prairie  or  hung 
sluggishly  overhead,  wrhile  the  earth  wore  an  aspect  no  more 
attractive  than  the  heavens,  exhibiting  nothing  but  pools  of 
water,  grass  beaten  down,  and  mud  well  trampled  by  our 
mules  and  horses.     Our  companions'   tent,  with   an   air  of 
forlorn  and  passive  misery,  and  their  wagons  in  like  manner, 
drenched  and  woe-begone,  stood  not  far  off.     The  captain  ; 
was   just   returning    from   his   morning's    inspection    of    the 
horses.     He  stalked  through  the  mist  and  rain  with  his  plaid 
around  his  shoulders,  his  little  pipe,  dingy  as  an  antiquarian] 
relic,  projecting  from  beneath  his  mustache,  and  his  brother] 
Jack  at  his  heels. 

"Good-morning,  captain." 

"Good-morning  to  your  honors,"  said  the  captain,  affect- 
ing the  Hibernian  accent;  but  at  that  instant,  as  he  stooped 
to  enter  the  tent,  he  tripped  upon  the  cords  at  the  entrance,:* 
and  pitched  forward  against  the  guns  which  wrere  strapped 
around  the  pole  in  the  center. 

"You  are  nice. men,  you  are!"  said  he,  after  an  ejacula-.; 
tion  not  necessary  to  be  recorded,  "to  set  a  man-trap  before 
your  door  every  morning  to  catch  your  visitors." 

Then  he  sat  down  upon  Henry  Chatillon's  saddle.  We 
tossed  a  piece  of  buffalo  robe  to  Jack,  who  was  looking  about 
in  some  embarrassment.  He  spread  it  on  the  ground,  and 
took  his  seat,  with  a  stolid  countenance,  at.  his  brother's  side. 

"Exhilarating  weather,  captain!" 

"Oh,    delightful,    delightful!"    replied    the   captain.      "I 
knew  it  would  be  so ;  so  much  for  starting  yesterday  at  noon ! ! 
I  knew  how  it  would  turn  out ;  and  I  said  so  at  the  time/T 

"You  said  just  the  contrary  to  us.  We  were  in  no  hurry, 
and  only  moved  because  you  insisted  on  it." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  captain,  taking  his  pipe  from  his 


THE  BIG  BLUE  65 

mouth  with  an  air  of  extreme  gravity,  "it  was  no  plan  of 
mine.  There  is  a  man  among  us  who  is  determined  to  have 
everything  his  own  way.  You  may  express  your  opinion, 
but  don't  expect  him  to  listen.  You  may  be  as  reasonable 
as  you  like;  oh,  it  all  goes  for  nothing!  That  man  is  resolved 
to  rule  the  roast,  and  he'll  set  his  face  against  any  plan  that 
he  didn't  think  of  himself." 

The  captain  puffed  for  a  while  at  his  pipe,  as  if  meditating 
upon  his  grievances ;  then  he  began  again : 

"For  twenty  years  I  have  been  in  the  British  army  ,\  and 
in  all  that  time  I  never  had  half  so  much  dissension,  and 
quarreling,  and  nonsense,  as  since  I  have  been  on  this  cursed 
prairie.  He's  the  most  uncomfortable  man  I  ever  met." 

."Yes,"  said  Jack;  "and  don't  you  know,  Bill,  how  he 
drank  up  all  the  coffee  last  night,  and  put  the  rest  by  for 
himself  till  the  morning!" 

'He  pretends  to  know  everything,"  resumed  the  captain  ; 
"nobody  must  give  orders  but  he!  It's  oh!  we  must  do  this; 
and,  oh !  we  must  do  that ;  and  the  tent  must  be  pitched  here, 
and  the  horses  must  be  picketed  there;  for  nobody  knows  as 
well  as  he  does." 

We  were  a  little  surprised  at  this  disclosure  of  domestic 
dissensions  among  our  allies,  for  though  we  knew  of  their 
existence,  we  were  not  aware  of  their  extent.  The  persecuted 
captain  seeming  wholly  at  a  loss  as  to  the  course  of  conduct 
that  he  should  pursue,  we  recommended  him  to  adopt  prompt 
and  energetic  measures;  but  all  his  military  experience  had 
failed  to  teach  him  the  indispensable  lesson  to  be  "hard"  when 
the  emergency  requires  it. 

"For  twenty  years,"  he  repeated,  "I  have  been  in  the 
British  army,  and  in  that  time  I  have  been  intimately 
acquainted  with  some  two  hundred  officers,  young  and  old, 
and  I  never  yet  quarreled  with  any  man.  Oh,  'anything  for 
a  quiet  life!'  that's  my  maxim." 

We  intimated  that  the  prairie  was  hardly  the  place  to 


66  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

enjoy  a  quiet  life,  but  that,  in  the  present  circumstances,  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  toward  securing  his  wished-for  tran- 
quillity, was  immediately  to  put  a  period  to  the  nuisance  that 
disturbed  it.  But  again  the  captain's  easy  good-nature  recoiled 
from  the  task.  The  somewhat  vigorous  measures  necessary 
to  gain  the  desired  result  were  utterly  repugnant  to  him; 
he  preferred  to  pocket  his  grievances,  still  retaining  the  privi- 
lege of  grumbling  about  them.  "Oh,  anything  for  a  quiet 
life!"  he  said  again,  circling  back  to  his  favorite  maxim. 

Put  to  glance  at  the  previous  history  of  our  transatlantic 
confederates.  The  captain  had  sold  his  commission,  and 
was  living  in  bachelor  ease  and  dignity  in  his  paternal  halls, 
near  Dublin.  He  hunted,  fished,  rode  steeple-chases,  ran 
races,  and  talked  of  his  former  exploits.  He  was  sur- 
rounded with  the  trophies  of  his  rod  and  gun ;  the  walls  were 
plentifully  garnished,  he  told  us,  with  moose-horns  and  deer- 
horns,  bear-skins,  and  fox-tails;  for  the  captain's  double- 
barreled  rifle  had  seen  service  in  Canada  and  Jamaica;  he 
had  killed  salmon  in  Nova  Scotia,  and  trout,  by  his  own 
account,  in  all  the  streams  of  the  three  kingdoms.1  But  in 
an  evil  hour  a  seductive  stranger  came  from  London ;  no 
less  a  person  than  R.,  who,  among  other  multitudinous  wan- 
derings, had  once  been  upon  the  western  prairies,  and  natu- 
rally enough  was  anxious  to  visit  them  again.  The  captain's 
imagination  was  inflamed  by  the  pictures  of  a  hunter's  para- 
dise that  his  guest  held  forth;  he  conceived  an  ambition  to 
add  to  his  other  trophies  the  horns  of  a  buffalo  and  the 
claws  of  a  grizzly  bear ;  so  he  and  R.  struck  a  league  to 
travel  in  company.  Jack  followed  his  brother  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Two  weeks  on  board  the  Atlantic  steamer  brought 
them  to  Boston;  in  two  weeks  more  of  hard  traveling  they 
reached  St.  Louis,  from  which  a  ride  of  six  days  carried 
them  to  the  frontier;  and  here  we  found  them,  in  the  full 
tide  of  preparation  for  their  journey. 

1  England,  Scotland,  Ireland. 


THE  BIG  BLUE  67 

We  had  been  throughout  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
captain,  but  R.,  the  motive  power  of  our  companions'  branch 
of  the  expedition,  was  scarcely  known  to  us.  His  voice, 
indeed,  might  be  heard  incessantly;  but  at  camp  he  remained 
chiefly  within  the  tent,  and  on  the  road  he  either  rode  by 
himself,  or  else  remained  in  close  conversation  with  his 
friend  Wright,  the  muleteer.  As  the  captain  left  the  tent 
that  morning,  I  observed  R.  standing  by  the  fire,  and  having 
nothing  else  to  do,  I  determined  to  ascertain,  if  possible, 
what  manner  of  man  he  was.  He  had  a  book  under  his 
arm,  but  just  at  present  he  was  engrossed  in  actively  super- 
intending the  operations  of  Sorel,  the  hunter,  who  was  cook- 
ing some  corn-bread  over  the  coals  for  breakfast.  R.  was  a 
well-formed  and  rather  good-looking  man,  some  thirty  years 
old,  considerably  younger  than  the  captain.  He  wore  a 
beard  and  mustache  of  the  oakum  complexion,  and  his  attire 
was  altogether  more  elegant  than  one  ordinarily  sees  on 
the  prairie.  He  wore  his  cap  on  one  side  of  his  head;  his 
checked  shirt,  open  in  front,  was  in  very  neat  order,  con- 
sidering the  circumstances;  and  his  blue  pantaloons,  of  the 
John  Bull  cut,  might  once  have  figured  in  Bond  Street.1 

"Turn  over  that  cake,  man!  turn  it  over,  quick!  Don't 
you  see  it  burning?" 

"It  ain't  half  done,"  growled  Sorel,  in  the  amiable  tone 
of  a  whipped  bulldog. 

"It  is.     Turn  it  over,  I  tell  you!" 

Sorel,  a  strong,  sullen-looking  Canadian,  who,  from  hav- 
ing spent  his  life  among  the  wildest  and  most  remote  of  the 
Indian  tribes,  had  imbibed  much  of  their  dark,  vindictive 
spirit,  looked  ferociously  up,  as  if  he  longed  to  leap  upon 
his  bourgeois  and  throttle  him;  but  he  obeyed  the  order, 
coming  from  so  experienced  an  artist. 

"It  was  a  good  idea  of  yours,"  said  I,  seating  myself 
on  the  tongue  of  a  wagon,  "to  bring  Indian  meal  with  you." 

1A  London  thoroughfare  noted  for  its  fashionable  shops 


68  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  R.,  "it's  good  bread  for  the  prairie — good 
bread  for  the  prairie.  I  tell  you  that's  burning  again." 

Here  he  stooped  down,  and  unsheathing  the  silver- 
mounted  hunting-knife  in  his  belt,  began  to  perform  the 
part  of  cook  himself;  at  the  same  time  requesting  me  to 
hold  for  a  moment  the  book  under  his  arm,  which  inter- 
fered with  the  exercise  of  these  important  functions.  I 
opened  it;  it  was  "Macaulay's  Lays";1  and  I  made  some 
remark,  expressing  my  admiration  of  the  work. 

"Yes,  yes;  a  pretty  .good  thing.  Macaulay  can  do  better 
than  that,  though.  I  know  him  very  well.  I  have  traveled 
with  him.  Where  was  it  we  first  met — at  Damascus?  No 
no;  it  was  in  Italy." 

"So,"  said  I,  "you  have  been  over  the  same  ground  with 
your  countryman,  the  author  of  'Eothen'?  There  has  been 
some  discussion  in  America  as  to  who  he  is.  I  have  heard 
Milnes's2  name  mentioned." 

"Milnes's?  Oh,  no,  no,  no;  not  at  all.  It  was  King- 
lake3  ;  Kinglake's  the  man.  I  know  him  very  well ;  that  is, 
I  have  seen  him." 

Here  Jack  C.,  who  stood  by,  interposed  a  remark  (a 
thing  not  common  with  him),  observing  that  he  thought 
the  weather  would  become  fair  before  twelve  o'clock. 

"It's  going  to  rain  all  day,"  said  R.,  "and  clear  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  night." 

Just  then  the  clouds  began  to  dissipate  in  a  very  unequivo- 
cal manner;  but  Jack,  not  caring  to  defend  his  point  against 
so  authoritative  a  declaration,  walked  away  whistling,  and 
we  resumed  our  conversation. 

"Borrow,  the  author  of  'The  Bible  in  Spain,'4  I  presume 
you  know  him,  too?" 

1Macaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,  published  in  1842. 

2Richard  Monckton  Milnes,  Lord  Houghton,  English  author,  b.  1809,  d.  1885. 

Alexander  William  Kinglake,  b.  1809,  d.  1891,  author  of  Eothen  and  History 
of  the  Invasion  of  the  Crimea.  Eothen,  published  anonymously  in  1844,  is  an 
account  of  travels  in  the  East. 

*George  Borrow,  b.  1803,  d.  1881. 


THE  BIG  BLUE  69 

"Oh,  certainly;  I  know  all  those  men.  By  the  way, 
they  told  me  that  one  of  your  American  writers,  Judge 
Story,1  had  died  lately.  I  edited  some  of  his  works  in  Lon- 
don ;  not  without  faults,  though." 

Here  followed  an  erudite  commentary  on  certain  points 
of  law,  in  which  he  particularly  animadverted  on  the  errors 
into  which  he  considered  that  the  judge  had  been  betrayed. 
At  length,  having  touched  successively  on  an  infinite  variety 
of  topics,  I  found  that  I  had  the  happiness  of  discovering 
a  man  equally  competent  to  enlighten  me  upon  them  all, 
equally  an  authority  on  matters  of  science  or  literature, 
philosophy  or  fashion.  The  part  I  bore  in  the  conversation 
was  by  no  means  a  prominent  one;  it  was  only  necessary 
to  set  him  going,  and  when  he  had  run  long  enough  upon 
one  topic,  to  divert  him  to  another  and  lead  him  on  to  pour 
out  his  heaps  of  treasure  in  succession. 

"What  has  that  fellow  been  saying  to  you?"  said  Shaw, 
as  I  returned  to  the  tent.  "I  have  heard  nothing  but  his 
talking  for  the  last  half  .-hour." 

R.  had  none  of  the  peculiar  traits  of  the  ordinary  "Brit- 
ish snob";  his  absurdities  were  all  his  own,  belonging  to  no 
particular  nation  or  clime.  He  was  possessed  with  an  active 
devil  that  had  driven  him  over  land  and  sea,  to  no  great 
purpose,  as  it  seemed;  for  although  he  had  the  usual  com- 
plement of  eyes  and  ears,  the  avenues  between  these  organs 
and  his  brain  appeared  remarkably  narrowT  and  untrodden. 
His  energy  was  much  more  conspicuous  than  his  wisdom; 
but  his  predominant  characteristic  was  a  magnanimous  ambi- 
tion to  exercise  on  all  occasions  an  awful  rule  and  suprem- 
acy and  this  propensity  equally  displayed  itself,  as  the 
reader  will  have  observed,  whether  the  matter  in  question 
was  the  baking  of  a  hoe-cake  or  a  point  of  international 
law.  When  such  diverse  elements  as  he  and  the  easy-tem- 

1  Joseph  Story,  associate  justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States, 
and  one  of  the  most  eminent  of  American  jurists,  b.  1779,  d.  1845. 


70  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

pered  captain  came  in  contact,  no  wonder  some  commotion 
ensued;  R.  rode  rough-shod,  from  morning  till  night,  over 
his  military  ally. 

At  noon  the  sky  was  clear  and  we  set  out,  trailing  through 
mud  and  slime  six  inches  deep.  That  night  we  were  spared 
the  customary  infliction  of  the  shower  bath. 

On  the  next  afternoon  we  were  moving  slowly  along, 
not  far  from  a  patch  of  woods  which  lay  on  the  right.  Jack 
C.  rode  a  little  in  advance; 

The  livelong  day  he  had  not  spoke1; 

when  suddenly  he  faced  about,  pointed  to  the  woods,  and 
roared  out  to  his  brother: 

"O  Bill!  here's  a  cow!" 

The  captain  instantly  galloped  forward,  and  he  and  Jack 
made  a  vain  attempt  to  capture  the  prize  ;  but  the  cow,  with 
a  well-grounded  distrust  of  their  intentions,  took  refuge 
among  the  trees.  R.  joined  them,  and  they  soon  drove  her 
out.  We  watched  their  evolutions  as  they  galloped  around 
her,  trying  in  vain  to  noose  her  wkh  their  trail-ropes,  which 
they  had  converted  into  Idriettes*  for  the  occasion.  At  length 
they  resorted  to  milder  measures,  and  the  cow  was  driven 
along  with  the  party.  Soon  after  the  usual  thunderstorm 
came  up,  the  wind  blowing  with  such  fury  that  the  streams 
of  rain  flew  almost  horizontally  along  the  prairie,  roaring 
like  a  cataract.  The  horses  turned  tail  to  the  storm,  and 
stood  hanging  their  heads,  bearing  the  infliction  with  an  air 
of  meekness  and  resignation;  while  we  drew  our  heads 
between  our  shoulders  and  crouched  forward,  so  as  to  make 
our  backs  serve  as  a  penthouse  for  the  rest  of  our  persons. 
Meanwhile  the  cow,  taking  advantage  of  the  tumult,  ran  off, 
to  the  great  discomfiture  of  the  captain,  who  seemed  to  con- 
sider her  as  his  own  especial  prize,  since  she  had  been  dis- 
covered by  Jack.  In  defiance  of  the  storm,  he  pulled  his 


Marmion,  Canto  III,  Stanza  13. 
2English,  "lariats." 


THE  BIG  BLUE  71 

I  cap  tight  over  his  brows,  jerked  a  huge  buffalo  pistol  from 
||  his  holster,  and  set  out  at  full  speed  after  her.     This  was 
I  the  last  we  saw  of  them  for  some  time,  the  mist  and  rain 
I  making  an   impenetrable  veil;   but  at  length  wre  heard  the 
I  captain's  shout,  and  saw  him  looming  through  the  tempest, 
R  the  picture  of  a  Hibernian  cavalier,- with  his  cocked  pistol 
I  held   aloft  for  safety's  sake,   and   a  countenance  of  anxiety 
and  excitement.     The  cow  trotted  before  him,  but  exhibited 
evident  signs  of  an  intention  to  run  off  again,  and  the  cap- 
tain was  roaring  to  us  to  head  her.     But  the  rain  had  got  in 
behind  our  coat  collars,  and  was  traveling  over  our  necks 
in  numerous  little  streamlets;  and  being  afraid  to  move  our 
heads  for  fear  of  admitting  more,  we  sat  stiff  and  immovable, 
looking  at  the  captain  askance  and  laughing  at  his  frantic 
movements.    At  last  the  cow  made  a  sudden  plunge  and  ran 
off;  the  captain  grasped  his  pistol  firmly,  spurred  his  horse, 
and  galloped  after,  with  evident  designs  of  mischief.     In  a 
moment  we  heard  the  faint  report,  deadened  by  the  rain,  and 
then  the  conqueror  and  his  victim  reappeared,  the  latter  shot 
through  the  body,  and  quite  helpless.     Not  long  after  the 
storm  moderated,  and  we  advanced  again.     The  cow  walked 
painfully  along  under  the  charge  of  Jack,  to  whom  the  cap- 
tain had  committed  her,  while  he  himself  rode  forward  in 
his  old  capacity  of  vedette.     We  were  approaching  a  long 
line  of  trees   that  followed  a  stream  stretching  across  our 
path,   far  in   front,   when  we  beheld   the  vedette   galloping 
toward  us,  apparently  much  excited,  but  with  a  broad  grin 
on  his  face. 

"Let  that  cow  drop  behind!"  he  shouted  to  us;  "here's 
her  owners!" 

And  in  fact,  as  we  approached  the  line  of  trees,  a  large 
white  object,  like  a  tent,  was  visible  behind  them.  On 
approaching,  however,  we  found,  instead  of  the  expected 
Mormon  camp,  nothing  but  the  lonely  prairie,  and  a  large 
white  rock  standing  by  the  path.  The  cow  therefore 


72  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

resumed  her  place  in  our  procession.  She  walked  on  until 
we  encamped,  when  R.,  firmly  approaching  with  his  enor- 
mous English  double-barreled  rifle,  calmly  and  deliberately 
took  aim  at  her  heart,  and  discharged  into  it  first  one  bullet 
and  then  the  other.  She  was  then  butchered  on  the  most 
approved  principles  of  woodcraft,  and  furnished  a  very  wel- 
come item  to  our  somewhat  limited  bill  of  fare. 

In  a  day  or  two  more  we  reached  the  river  called  the 
"Big  Blue."1  By  titles  equally  elegant  almost  all  the  streams 
of  this  region  are  designated.  We  had  struggled  through 
ditches  and  little  brooks  all  that  morning;  but  on  travers- 
ing the  dense  woods  that  lined  the  banks  of  the  Blue,  we 
found  that  more  formidable  difficulties  awaited  us,  for  the 
stream,  swollen  by  the  rains,  was  wide,  deep,  and  rapid. 

No  sooner  were  we  on  the  spot  than  R.  had  flung  off 
his  clothes,  and  was  swimming  across  or  splashing  through 
the  shallows,  with  the  end  of  a  rope  between  his  teeth.  We 
all  looked  on  in  admiration,  wondering  what  might  be  the 
design  of  this  energetic  preparation;  but  soon  we  heard  him 
shouting:  "Give  that  rope  a  turn  round  that  stump!  You, 
Sorel :  do  you  hear  ?  Look  sharp  now,  Boisverd !  Come  over 
to  this  side,  some  of  you,  and  help  me!"  The  men  to  whom 
these  orders  were  directed  paid  not  the  least  attention  to 
them,  though  they  were  poured  out  without  pause  or  inter- 
mission. Henry  Chatillon  directed  the  work,  and  it  pro- 
ceeded quietly  and  rapidly.  R.'s  sharp  brattling  voice  might 
have  been  heard  incessantly ;  and  he  was  leaping  about  with 
the  utmost  activity,  multiplying  himself,  after  the  manner 
of  great  commanders,  as  if  his  universal  presence  and  super- 
vision were  of  the  last  necessity.  His  commands  were  rather 
amusingly  inconsistent;  for  when  he  saw  that  the  men  would 
not  do  as  he  told  them,  he  wisely  accommodated  himself  to 
circumstances,  and  with  the  utmost  vehemence  ordered  them 

*A  tributary  of  the  Kansas  River,  flowing  into  the  latter  from  the  north  at 
Manhattan,  Kansas. 


THE  BIG  BLUE 


!"!£  the  hill  will  not  come  to  Mahomet,  Mahomet  will  go  to  the  hill."    Bacon's 
ays,  Of  Boldness. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE    PLATTE    AND    THE    DESERT 

We  were  now  arrived  at  the  close  of  our  solitary  jour- 
neyings  along  the  St.  Joseph  trail.  On  the  evening  of  the 
twenty-third  of  May  we  encamped  near  its  junction  with  the 
old  legitimate1  trail  of  the  Oregon  emigrants.  We  had 
ridden  long  that  afternoon,  trying  in  vain  to  find  wood  and 
water,  until  at  length  we  saw  the  sunset  sky  reflected  from 
a  pool  encircled  by  bushes  and  a  rock  or  two.  The  water 
lay  in  the  bottom  of  a  hollow,  the  smooth  prairie  gracefully 
rising  in  oceanlike  swells  on  every  side.  We  pitched  our 
tents  by  it;  not,  however,  before  the  keen  eye  of  Henry 
Chatillon  had  discerned  some  unusual  object  upon  the  faintly 
defined  outline  of  the  distant  swell.  But  in  the  moist,  hazy 
atmosphere  of  the  evening,  nothing  could  be  clearly  distin- 
guished. As  we  lay  around  the  fire  after  supper,  a  low  and 
distant  sound,  strange  enough  amid  the  loneliness  of  the 
prairie,  reached  our  ears — peals  of  laughter,  and  the  faint 
voices  of  men  and  women.  For  eight  days  we  had  not 
encountered  a  human  being,  and  this  singular  warning  of 
their  vicinity  had  an  effect  extremely  wild  and  impressive. 

About  dark  a  sallow-faced  fellow  descended  the  hill  on 
horseback,  and,  splashing  through  the  pool,  rode  up  to  the 
tents.  He  \vas  enveloped  in  a  huge  cloak,  and  his  broad 
felt  hat  was  weeping  about  his  ears  with  the  drizzling 
moisture  of  the  evening.  Another  followed,  a  stout,  square 
built,  intelligent  looking  man,  who  announced  himself  as 
leader  of  an  emigrant  party  encamped  a  mile  in  advance  of 
us.  About  twenty  wagons,  he  said,  were  with  him;  the 
rest  of  his  party  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  Big  Blue.  .  .  . 

These  were  the  first  emigrants  that  we  had  overtaken, 

lThe  main,  or  California,  trail  leading  west  from  St.  Joseph,  Missouri. 

74 


THE  PLATTE  AND  THE  DESERT  75 

tiough  we  had  found  abundant  and  melancholy  traces  of 
cir  progress  throughout  the  whole  course  of  the  journey. 
Sometimes  we  passed  the  grave  of  one  who  had  sickened  and 
I  died  on  the  way.  The  earth  was  usually  torn  up,  and 
covered  thickly  with  wolf-tracks.  Some  had  escaped  this 
violation.  One  morning  a  piece  of  plank,  standing  upright 
on  the  summit  of  a  grassy  hill,  attracted  our  notice,  and 
riding  up  to  it  we  found  the  following  words  very  roughly 
traced  upon  it,  apparently  by  a  red-hot  niece  of  iron:  . 

MARY  ELLIS. 

DIED    MAY    7TH,    1845. 

Aged  two  months. 

Such  tokens  were  of  common  occurrence.  Nothing  could 
speak  more  for  the  hardihood,  or  rather  infatuation,  of  the 
adventurers,  or  the  sufferings  that  await  them  upon  the 
journey. 

We  were  late  in  breaking  up  our  camp  on  the  following 
morning,  and  scarcely  had  we  ridden  a  mile  when  we  saw, 
far  in  advance  of  us,  drawn  against  the  horizon,  a  line  of 
objects  stretching  at  regular  intervals  along  the  level  edge 
of  the  prairie.  An  intervening  swell  soon  hid  them  from 
sight,  until,  ascending  it  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  we  saw 
close  before  us  the  emigrant  caravan,  with  its  heavy  white 
wagons  creeping  on  in  their  slow  procession,  and  a  large 
drove  of  cattle  following  behind.  Half  a  dozen  yellow- 
visaged  Missourians,  mounted  on  horseback,  were  cursing 
and  shouting  among  them;  their  lank  angular  proportions 
enveloped  in  brown  homespun,  evidently  cut  and  adjusted  by 
the  hands  of  a  domestic  female  tailor.  As  we  approached, 
they  greeted  us  with  the  polished  salutation:  "How  are  ye, 
boys?  Are  ye  for  Oregon  or  California?" 

As  we  pushed  rapidly  past  the  wagons,  children's  faces 
were  thrust  out  from  the  white  coverings  to  look  at  us; 
while  the  care-worn,  thin-featured  matron,  or  the  buxom 


76  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

girl,  seated  in  front,  suspended  the  knitting  on  which  most 
of  them  were  engaged  to  stare  at  us  with  wondering  curios- 
ity. By  the  side  of  each  wagon  stalked  the  proprietor,  urging 
on  his  patient  oxen,  who  shouldered  heavily  along,  inch  by 
inch,  on  their  interminable  journey.  It  was  easy  to  see  that 
fear  and  dissension  prevailed  among  them;  some  of  the  men 
— but  these,  with  one  exception,  were  bachelors — looked  wist- ; 
fully  upon  us  as  we  rode  lightly  and  swiftly  past,  and  then 
impatiently  at  their  own  lumbering  wagons  and  heavy-gaited 
oxen.  Others  were  unwilling  to  advance  at  all  until  the 
party  they  had  left  behind  should  have  rejoined  them.  Many 
were  murmuring  against  the  leader  they  had  chosen,  and 
wished  to  depose  him;  and  this  discontent  was  fomented  by 
some  ambitious  spirits  who  had  hopes  of  succeeding  in  his 
place.  The  women  were  divided  between  regrets  for  the 
homes  they  had  left  and  apprehension  of  the  deserts  and  the 
savages  before  them. 

We  soon  left  them  far  behind,  and  fondly  hoped  that  we 
had  taken  a  final  leave ;  but  unluckily  our  companions'  wagon 
stuck  so  long  in  a  deep  muddy  ditch  that,  before  it  was  extri- 
cated, the  van  of  the  emigrant  caravan  appeared  again, 
descending  a  ridge  close  at  hand.  Wagon  after  wagon 
plunged  through  the  mud;  and  as  it  was  nearly  noon,  and 
the  place  promised  shade  and  water,  we  saw  with  much 
gratification  that  they  were  resolved  to  encamp.  Soon  the 
wagons  were  wheeled  into  a  circle ;  the  cattle  were  grazing 
over  the  meadow,  and  the  men  with  sour,  sullen  faces  were  j 
looking  about  for  wood  and  water.  They  seemed  to  meet 
with  but  indifferent  success.  As  we  left  the  ground,  I  saw 
a  tall  slouching  fellow,  with  the  nasal  accent  of  "down  east," 
contemplating  the  contents  of  his  tin  cup,  which  he  had  just 
filled  with  water. 

"Look  here,  you,"  he  said;  "it's  chock  full  of  animals!" 
The  cup,  as  he  held  it  out,  exhibited  in  fact  an  extraor- 
dinary variety  and  profusion  of  animal  and  vegetable  life. 


THE  PLATTE  AND  THE  DESERT  77 

Riding  up  the  little  hill  and  looking  back  on  the  meadow, 
could  easily  see  that  all  was  not  right  in  the  camp  of 
emigrants.  The  men  were  crowded  together,  and  an 
angry  discussion  seemed  to  be  going  forward.  R.  was  miss- 
ing from  his  wonted  place  in  the  line,  and  the  captain  told 
us  that  he  had  remained  behind  to  get  his  horse  shod  by  a 
blacksmith  who  was  attached  to  the  emigrant  party.  Some- 
thing whispered  in  our  ears  that  mischief  was  on  foot;  we 
kept  on,  however,  and  coming  soon  to  a  stream  of  tolerable 
water,  we  stopped  to  rest  and  dine.  Still  the  absentee  lin- 
gered behind.  At  last,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  he  and  his 
horse  suddenly  appeared,  sharply  defined  against  the  sky  on 
the  summit  of  a  hill;  and  close  behind,  a  huge  white  object 
rose  slowly  into  view. 

"What  is  that  blockhead  bringing  with  him  now?" 
A  moment  dispelled  the  mystery.  Slowly  and  solemnly, 
one  behind  the  other,  four  long  trains  of  oxen  and  four 
emigrant  wagons  rolled  over  the  crest  of  the  declivity  and 
gravely  descended,  while  R.  rode  in  state  in  the  van.  It 
seems  that,  during  the  process  of  shoeing  the  horse,  the 
smothered  dissensions  among  the  emigrants  suddenly  broke 
into  open  rupture.  Some  insisted  on  pushing  forward,  some 
on  remaining  where  they  were,  and  some  on  going  back. 
Kearsley,  their  captain,  threw  up  his  command  in  disgust. 
"And  now,  boys/'  said  he,  "if  any  of  you  are  for  going  ahead, 
just  you  come  along  with  me." 

Four  wagons,  with  ten  men,  one  woman,  and  one  small 
child,  made  up  the  force  of  the  "go-ahead"  faction,  and  R., 
with  his  usual  proclivity  toward  mischief,  invited  them  to 
join  our  party.  Fear  of  the  Indians — for  I  can  conceive  of 
no  other  motive — must  have  induced  him  to  court  so  burden- 
some an  alliance.  As  may  well  be  conceived,  these  repeated 
instances  of  high-handed,  dealing  sufficiently  exasperated  us. 
In  this  case,  indeed,  the  men  who  joined  us  were  all  that 
could  be  desired;  rude  indeed  in  manner,  but  frank,  manly, 


78  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

and   intelligent.      To   tell   them   we   could   not   travel   with  ' 
them  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question.     I  merely  reminded 
Kearsley  that  if  his  oxen  could  not  keep  up  with  our  mules 
he  must  expect  to  be  left  behind,  as  we  could  not  consent 
to  be  further  delayed  on  the  journey;  but  he  immediately 
replied,  that  his  oxen  "should  keep  up;  and  if  they  couldn't,] 
why  he  allowed  that  he'd  find  out  how  to  make  'em!"     Hav- 
ing availed  myself  of  what  satisfaction  could  be  derived  from  3 
giving  R.  to  understand  my  opinion  of  his  conduct,  I  returned  \ 
to  our  side  of  the  camp. 

On  the  next  day,  as  it  chanced,  our  English  companions 
broke  the  axle-tree  of  their  wagon,  and  down  came  the  whole 
cumbrous  machine  lumbering  into  the  bed  of  a  brook !  Here 
was  a  day's  work  cut  out  for  us.  Meanwhile,  our  emigrant 
associates  kept  on  their  way,  and  so  vigorously  did  they  urge 
forward  their  powerful  oxen  that,  with  the  broken  axle-tree 
and  other  calamities,  it  was  full  a  week  before  we  overtook 
them;  when  at  length  we  discovered  them,  one  afternoon, 
crawling  quietly  along  the  sandy  brink  of  the  Platte.  But 
meanwhile  various  incidents  occurred  to  ourselves. 

It  \vas  probable  that  at  this  stage  of  our  journey  the 
Pawnees  would  attempt  to  rob  us.  We  began  therefore  to 
stand  guard  in  turn,  dividing  the  night  into  three  watches, 
and  appointing  two  men  for  each.  Deslauriers  and  I  held 
guard  together.  We  did  not  march  with  military  precision 
to  and  fro  before  the  tents;  our  discipline  was  by  no  means 
so  stringent  and  rigid.  We  wrapped  ourselves  in  our  blan- 
kets and  sat  down  by  the  fire ;  and  Deslauriers,  combining 
his  culinary  functions  with  his  duties  as  sentinel,  employed 
himself  in  boiling  the  head  of  an  antelope  for  our  morning's 
repast.  Yet  we  were  models  of  vigilance  in  comparison 
with  some  of  the  party;  for  the  ordinary  practice  of  the 
guard  was  to  establish  himself  in  the  most  comfortable 
posture  he  could,  lay  his  rifle  on  the  ground,  and  enveloping 
his  nose  in  the  blanket,  meditate  on  whatever  subject  best 


THE  PLATTE  AND  THE  DESERT  79 

pleased  him.  This  is  all  well  enough  when  among  Indians 
who  do  not  habitually  proceed  further  in  their  hostility  than 
robbing  travelers  of  their  horses  and  mules;  though,  indeed, 
a  Pawnee's  forbearance  is  not  always  to  be  trusted;  but 
in  certain  regions  farther  to  the  west,  the  guard  must  beware 
how  he  exposes  his  person  to  the  light  of  the  fire,  lest  per- 
chance some  keen-eyed  skulking  marksman  should  let  fly  a 
bullet  or  an  arrow  from  amid  the  darkness. 

Among  the  various  tales  that  circulated  arouna  our  camp 
fire  was  a  rather  curious  one,  told  by  Boisverd,  and  not 
inappropriate  here.  Boisverd  was  trapping  with  several 
companions  on  the  skirts  of  the  Blackfoot  country.  The 
man  on  guard,  well  knowing  that  it  behooved  him  to  put 
forth  his  utmost  precaution,  kept  aloof  from  the  firelight 
and  sat  watching  intently  on  all  sides.  At  length  he  was 
aware  of  a  dark,  crouching  figure  stealing  noiselessly  into 
the  circle  of  the  light.  He  hastily  cocked  his  rifle,  but  the 
sharp  click  of  the  lock  caught  the  ear  of  Blackfoot,  whose 
senses  were  all  on  the  alert.  Raising  his  arrow,  already 
fitted  to  the  string,  he  shot  in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 
So  sure  was  his  aim  that  he  drove  it  through  the  throat  of 
the  unfortunate  guard,  and  then,  with  a  loud  yell,  bounded 
from  the  camp. 

As  I  looked  at  the  partner  of  my  watch,  puffing  and 
blowing  over  his  fire,  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  might  not 
prove  the  most  efficient  auxiliary  in  time  of  trouble. 

"Deslauriers,"  said  I,  "would  you  run  awa>  if  the  Paw- 
nees should  fire  at  us?" 

"Ah !  oui,  oui,  monsieur !"  he  replied  very  decisively. 

I  did  not  doubt  the  fact,  but  was  a  little  surprised  at  the 
frankness  of  the  confession. 

At  this  instant  a  most  whimsical  variety  of  voices — barks, 
howls,  yelps,  and  whines — all  mingled  as  it  were  together, 
sounded  from  the  prairie  not  far  off,  as  if  a  whole  conclave 
of  wolves  of  every  age  and  sex  were  assembled  there.  Des- 


80  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

lauriers  looked  up  from  his  work  with  a  laugh,  and  began 
to  imitate  this  curious  medley  of  sounds  with  a  most  ludi- ! 
crous  accuracy.     At  this  they  were  repeated  with  redoubled 
emphasis,    the   musician   being   apparently   indignant   at   the 
successful  efforts  of  a  rival.     They  all  proceeded  from  the 
throat  of  one  little  wolf,  not  larger  than  a  spaniel,  seated 
by  himself  at  some  distance.     He  was  of  the  species  called 
the  prairie  wolf ;  a  grim-visaged  but  harmless  little  brute,  1 
whose  worst  propensity  is  creeping  among  horses  and  gnaw-j 
ing  the  ropes  of  raw  hide  by  which  they  are  picketed  around 
the  camp.      But   other   beasts   roam   the   prairies,    far   more 
formidable  in  aspect  and  in  character.     These  are  the  large 
white  and  gray  wrolves,  w^hose  deep  howl  we  heard  at  inter-i 
vals  from  far  and  near. 

At  last  I  fell  into  a  doze,  and,  awakening  from  it,  found 
Deslauriers  fast  asleep.     Scandalized  ty  this  breach  of  dis-j 
cipline,   I  was  about  to  stimulate  his  vigilance   by  stirring 
him  with  the  stock  of  my  rifle;  but  compassion  prevailing, 
I   determined  to  let  him  sleep  awhile,   and  then   to  arouse 
him  and  administer  a  suitable  reproof  for  such  a  forgetful-^ 
ness  of  duty.     Now  and  then  I  walked  the  rounds  among 
the  silent  horses,  to  see  that  all  was  right.     The  night  was 
chill,   damp,   and   dark,   the  dank   grass  bending  under   the 
icy  dewdrops.     At  the  distance  of  a  rod  or  two  the  tents  ] 
were  invisible,  and  nothing  could  be  seen  but  the  obscure  \ 
figures  of  the  horses,  deeply  breathing  and  restlessly  starting 
as  they  slept,  or  still  slowly  champing  the  grass.     Far  off,  j 
beyond  the  black  outline  of  the  prairie,  there  was  a  ruddy 
light,  gradually  increasing,  like  the  glow  of  a  conflagration;] 
until  at  length  the  broad  disk  of  the  moon,  blood-red,  and 
vastly  magnified  by  the  vapors,  rose  slowly  upon  the  dark- 
ness, flecked  by  one  or  two  little  clouds;  and  as  the  light 
poured  over  the  gloomy  plain,  a  fierce  and  stern  howl,  close 
at  hand,  seemed  to  greet  it  as  an  unwelcome  intruj*r.    There  . 
was  something  impressive  and  awful  in  the  place  and   the 


THE  PLATTE  AND  THE  DESERT  81 


1Revolvers  were  at  that  time  uncommon. 


82  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

mules,  laden  with  their  weapons  and  implements,  and  an 
innumerable  multitude  of  unruly  wolfish  dogs,  who  have 
not  acquired  the  civilized  accomplishment  of  barking,  but 
howl  like  their  wild  cousins  of  the  prairie. 

The  permanent  winter  villages  of  the  Pawnees  stand  on 
the  lower  Platte,  but  throughout  the  summer  the  greater 
part  of  the  inhabitants  are  wandering  over  the  plains,  a 
treacherous,  cowardly  banditti,  who  by  a  thousand  acts  of 
pillage  and  murder  have  deserved  summary  chastisement  at 
the  hands  of  government.  Last  year  a  Dakota  warrior 
performed  a  signal  exploit  at  one  of  these  villages.  He 
approached  it  alone  in  the  middle  of  a  dark  night,  and  clam- 
bering up  the  outside  of  one  of  the  lodges,  which  are  in  the 
form  of  a  half-sphere,  he  looked  in  at  the  round  hole  made 
at  the  top  for  the  escape  of  smoke.  The  dusky  light  from 
the  smoldering  embers  showed  him  the  forms  of  the  sleeping 
inmates;  and  dropping  lightly  through  the  opening,  he 
unsheathed  his  knife,  and  stirring  the  fire  coolly  selected  his? 
victims.  One  by  one  he  stabbed  and  scalped  them,  when  a 
child  suddenly  awoke  and  screamed.  He  rushed  from  the  < 
lodge,  yelled  a  Sioux  war-cry,  shouted  his  name  in  triumph 
and  defiance,  and  in  a  moment  had  darted  out  upon  the  i 
dark  prairie,  leaving  the  whole  village  behind  him  in  a  tumult, 
with  the  howling  and  baying  of  dogs,  the  screams  of  women, 
and  the  yells  of  the  enraged  warriors. 

Our  friend  Kearsley,  as  we  learned  on  rejoining  him, 
signalized  himself  by  a  less  bloody  achievement.  He  and 
his  men  were  good  woodsmen,  and  well  skilled  in  the  use 
of  the  rifle,  but  found  themselves  wholly  out  of  their  ele-J 
ment  on  the  prairie.  None  of  them  had  ever  seen  a  buf- 
falo, and  they  had  very  vague  conceptions  of  his  nature  and 
appearance.  On  the  day  after  they  reached  the  Platte,  look- 
ing toward  a  distant  swell,  they  beheld  a  multitude  of  little 
black  specks  in  motion  upon  its  surface. 

"Take  your  rifles,  boys,"  said  Kearsley,  "and  we'll  have 


THE  PLATTE  AND  THE  DESERT 

I  fresh  meat  for  supper."     This  inducement  was  quite  suf- 
Ificient.     The  ten  men  left  their  wagons  apd  set  out  in  hot 
liaste,  some  on  horseback  and  some  on  foot,  in  pursuit  of  the 
|  supposed  buffalo.     Meanwhile  a  high  grassy  ridge  shut  the 
*ame  from  view;  but  mounting  it  after  half  an  hour's  run- 
j  ning  and  riding,  they  found  themselves  suddenly  confronted 
by  about   thirty  mounted   Pawnees!     The   amazement   and 
consternation  were  mutual.     Having  nothing  but  their  bows 
|  and  arrows,  the  Indians  thought  their  hour  was  come,  and 
the  fate  that  they  were  no  doubt  conscious  of  richly  deserv- 
ing about  to  overtake  them.     So  they  began,  one  and  all,  to 
shout  forth  the  most  cordial  salutations  of  friendship,  running 
up  with  extreme  earnestness  to  shake  hands  with  the  Mis- 
sourians,  who  were  as  much  rejoiced  as  they  were  to  escape 
the  expected  conflict. 

A  low  undulating  line  of  sand-hills  bounded  the  horizon 
before  us.  That  day  we  rode  ten  consecutive  hours,  and 
it  was  dusk  before  we  entered  the  hollows  and  gorges  of 
these  gloomy  little  hills.  At  length  we  gained  the  summit,  and 
the  long  expected  valley  of  the  Platte  lay  before  us.  We  all 
drew  rein,  and,  gathering  in  a  knot  on  the  crest  of  the  hill, 
sat  joyfully  looking  down  upon  the  prospect.  It  was  right 
welcome ;  strange  too,  and  striking  to  the  imagination ;  and 
yet  it  had  not  one  picturesque  or  beautiful  feature,  nor  had 
it  any  of  the  features  of  grandeur,  other  than  its  vast  extent, 
its  solitude,  and  its  wildness.  For  league  after  league  a  plain 
as  level  as  a  frozen  lake  was  outspread  beneath  us;  here  and 
there  the  Platte,  divided  into  a  dozen  threadlike  sluices,  was 
traversing  it,  and  an  occasional  clump  of  wood,  rising  in  the 
midst  like  a  shadowy  island,  relieved  the  monotony  of  the 
waste.  No  living  thing  was  moving  throughout  the  vast 
landscape,  except  the  lizards  that  darted  over  the  sand  and 
through  the  rank  grass  and  prickly  pear  just  at  our  feet. 
And  yet  stern  and  wild  associations  gave  a  singular  interest 
to  the  view;  for  here  each  man  lives  by  the  strength  of  his 


84  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

arm  and  the  valor  of  his  heart.  Here  society  is  reduced  to 
its  original  elements,  the  whole  fabric  of  art  and  conven- 
tionality is  struck  rudely  to  pieces,  and  men  find  themselves 
suddenly  brought  back  to  the  wants  and  resources  of  their 
original  natures. 

We  had  passed  the  more  toilsome  and  monotonous  part 
of  the  journey;  but  four  hundred  miles  still  intervened 
between  us  and  Fort  Laramie,  and  to  reach  that  point  cost 
us  the  travel  of  three  additional  weeks.  During  the  whole 
of  this  time  we  were  passing  up  the  center  of  a  long  narrow  j 
sandy  plain,  reaching  like  an  outstretched  belt  nearly  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  Two  lines  of  sand-hills,  broken  often 
into  the  wildest  and  most  fantastic  forms,  flanked  the  valley 
at  the  distance  of  a  mile  or  two  on  the  right  and  left ;  while 
beyond  them  lay  a  barren,  trackless  waste — the  Great  Ameri- 
can Desert — extending  for  hundreds  of  miles  to  the  Arkansas 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  Missouri  on  the  other.  Before  us 
and  behind  us,  the  level  monotony  of  the  plain  was  unbroken  t 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Sometimes  it  glared  in  the 
sun,  an  expanse  of  hot,  bare  sand ;  sometimes  it  was  veiled  ; 
by  long,  coarse  grass.  Huge  skulls  and  whitening  bones  of 
buffalo  were  scattered  everywhere;  the  ground  was  tracked 
by  myriads  of  them,  and  often  covered  with  the  circular 
indentations  where  the  bulls  had  wallowed  in  the  hot  \ 
weather.  From  every  gorge  and  ravine,  opening  from  the 
hills,  descended  deep,  well-worn  paths,  where  the  buffalo 
issue  twice  a  day  in  regular  procession  to  drink  in  the  Platte. 
The  river  itself  runs  through  the  midst,  a  thin  sheet  of 
rapid,  turbid  water,  half  a  mile  wide  and  scarce  two  feet 
deep.  Its  low  banks,  for  the  most  part  without  a  bush  or  a 
tree,  are  of  loose  sand,  with  which  the  stream  is  so  charged 
that  it  grates  on  the  teeth  in  drinking.  The  naked  landscape 
is,  of  itself,  dreary  and  monotonous  enough;  and  yet  the 
wild  beasts  and  wild  men  that  frequent  the  valley  of  the 
Platte  make  it  a  scene  of  interest  and  excitement  to  the 


THE  PLATTE  AND  THE  DESERT  85 


!The  hide  of  the  buffalo  bull. 


86  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

The  reader  will  recollect  Turner,  the  man  whose  narrow 
escape  was  mentioned  not  long  since.  We  heard  that  the 
men  whom  the  entreaties  of  his  wife  induced  to  go  in  search 
of  him,  found  him  leisurely  driving  along  his  recovered  oxen, 
and  whistling  in  utter  contempt  of  the  Pawnee  nation.  His 
party  was  encamped  within  two  miles  of  us;  but  we  passed 
them  that  morning,  while  the  men  were  driving  in  the  oxen 
and  the  women  packing  their  domestic  utensils  and  their 
numerous  offspring  in  the  spacious  patriarchal  wagons.  As 
we  looked  back  we  saw  their  caravan  dragging  its  slow 
kngth  along  the  plain,  wearily  toiling  on  its  way  to  found 
new  empires  in  the  West. 

Our  New  England  climate  is  mild  and  equable  compared 
with  that  of  the  Platte.  This  very  morning,  for  instance, 
was  close  and  sultry,  the  sun  rising  with  a  faint  oppressive 
heat;  when  suddenly  darkness  gathered  in  the  west,  and  a 
furious  blast  of  sleet  and  hail  drove  full  in  our  faces,  icy 
cold,  and  urged  with  such  demoniac  vehemence  that  it  felt 
like  a  storm  of  needles.  It  was  curious  to  see  the  horses; 
they  faced  about  in  extreme  displeasure,  holding  their  tails 
like  whipped  dogs,  and  shivering  as  the  angry  gusts,  howling 
louder  than  a  concert  of  wolves,  swept  over  us.  Wright's 
long  train  of  mules  came  sweeping  round  before  the  storm 
like  a  flight  of  brown  snowbirds  driven  by  a  winter  tempest. 
Thus  we  all  remained  stationary  for  some  minutes,  crouch- 
ing close  to  our  horses'  necks,  much  too  surly  to  speak,  though 
once  the  captain  looked  up  from  between  the  collars  of  his 
coat,  his  face  blood-red,  and  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  con- 
tracted by  the  cold  into  a  most  ludicrous  grin  of  agony. 
He  grumbled  something  that  sounded  like  a  curse,  directed, 
as  we  believed,  against  the  unhappy  hour  when  he  had  first 
thought  of  leaving  home.  The  thing  was  too  good  to  last 
long;  and  the  instant  the  puffs  of  wind  subsided  we  erected 
our  tents,  and  remained  in  camp  for  the  rest  of  a  gloomy 
and  lowering  day.  The  emigrants  also  encamped  near  at 


L 


THE  PLAITE  AND  THE  DESERT  87 


d.  We,  being  first  on  the  ground,  had  appropriated  all 
he  wood  within  reach ;  so  that  our  fire  alone  blazed  cheerily. 
Around  it  soon  gathered  a  group  of  uncouth  figures,  shiver- 
ling  in  the  drizzling  rain.  Conspicuous  among  them  were 
jtwo  or  three  of  the  half -savage  men  who  spend  their  reck- 
less lives  in  trapping  among  the  Rocky  Mountains,  or  in 
Jtrading  for  the  Fur  Company  in  the  Indian  villages.  They 
vere  all  of  Canadian  extraction;  their  hard,  weather-beaten 
Ifaces  and  bushy  mustaches  looked  out  from  beneath  the  hoods 
of  their  white  capotes1  with  a  bad  and  brutish  expression,  as 
if  their  owner  might  be  the  willing  agent  of  any  villainy. 
And  such  in  fact  is  the  character  of  many  of  these  men. 

On  the  day  following  we  overtook  Kearsley's  wagons, 
and  thenceforward,  for  a  week  or  two,  we  w^ere  fellow- 
travelers.  One  good  effect,  at  least,  resulted  from  the  alli- 
ance: it  materially  diminished  the  serious  fatigue  of  standing 
gjuard ;  for  the  party  being  now  more  numerous,  there  were 
longer  intervals  between  each  man's  turns  of  duty. 

1  Coats  with  hoods. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    BUFFALO 

Four  days  on  the  Platte,  and  yet  no  buffalo !     Last  year's 
signs  of  them  were  provokingly  abundant ;  and  wood  being 
extremely  scarce,  we  found  an  admirable  substitute  in  the 
bois  de  vache?  which  burns  exactly  like  peat,  producing  no 
unpleasant  effects.     The  wagons  one  morning  had  left  the 
camp;  Shaw  and  I  were  already  on  horseback,  but.  Henry   \ 
Chatillon  still  sat  cross-legged  by  the  dead  embers  of   the 
fire,  playing  pensively  with  the  lock  of  his  rifle,  while  his 
sturdy  Wyandot  pony  stood  quietly  behind  him,  looking  over  I 
his  head.     At  last  he  got  up,  patted  the  neck  of  the  pony   j 
(whom,  from  an  exaggerated  appreciation  of  his  merits,  he    \ 
had  christened  "Five  Hundred  Dollar"),  and  then  mounted    ; 
with  a  melancholy  air. 

"What  is  it,  Henry?" 

"Ah,  I  feel  lonesome;  I  never  been  here  before;  but  I 
see  away  yonder  over  the  buttes,  and  down  there  on  the 
prairie,  black — all  black  with  buffalo!" 

In  the  afternoon  he  and  I  left  the  party  in  search  of  an 
antelope;  until  at  the  distance  of  a  mile  or  two  on  the  right,  « 
the  tall  white  wagons  and  the  little  black  specks  of  horsemen 
were  just  visible,  so  slowly  advancing  that  they  seemed 
motionless;  and  far  on  the  left  rose  the  broken  line  of 
scorched,  desolate  sand-hills.  The  vast  plain  waved  with  tall 
rank  grass  that  swept  our  horses'  bellies ;  it  swayed  to  and 
fro  in  billows  with  the  light  breeze,  and  far  and  near  ante- 
lope and  wolves  were  moving  through  it,  the  hairy  backs 
of  the  latter  alternately  appearing  and  disappearing  as  they 

JThe  dry  dung  of  the  buffalo,  often  called  "buffalo  chips." 


THE  BUFFALO  89 

(bounded  awkwardly  along;  while  the  antelope,  with  the 
|simple  curiosity  peculiar  to  them,  would  often  approach  us 
[closely,  their  little  horns  and  white  throats  just  visible  above 
the  grass  tops  as  they  gazed  eagerly  at  us  with  their  round, 
plack  eyes. 

I  dismounted,  and  amused  myself  with  firing  at  the 
[wolves.  Henry  attentively  scrutinized  the  surrounding  land- 
scape ;  at  length  he  gave  a  shout,  and  called  on  me  to  mount 
again,  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  sand-hills.  A  mile 
and  a  half  from  us,  two  minute  black  specks  slowly  traversed 
the  face  of  one  of  the  bare  glaring  declivities,  and  disappeared 
behind  the  summit.  "Let  us  go!"  cried  Henry,  belaboring 
the  sides  of  Five  Hundred  Dollar;  and  I  following  in  his 
wake,  we  galloped  rapidly  through  the  rank  grass  toward 
the  base  of  the  hills. 

From  one  of  their  openings  descended  a  deep  ravine, 
widening  as  it  issued  on  the  prairie.  We  entered  it,  and  gal- 
loping up,  in  a  moment  were  surrounded  by  the  bleak  sand- 
hills. Half  of  their  steep  sides  were  bare;  the  rest  were 
scantily  clothed  with  clumps  of  grass  and  various  uncouth 
plants,  conspicuous  among  which  appeared  the  reptile-like 
prickly-pear.  They  were  gashed  with  numberless  ravines; 
and  as  the  sky  had  suddenly  darkened  and  a  cold  gusty  wind 
arisen,  the  strange  shrubs  and  the  dreary  hills  looked  doubly 
wild  and  desolate.  But  Henry's  face  was  all  eagerness.  He 
tore  off  a  little  hair  from  the  piece  of  buffalo  robe  under 
his  saddle,  and  threw  it  up,  to  show  the  course  of  the  wind. 
It  blew  directly  before  us.  The  game  were  therefore  to 
windward,  and  it  was  necessary  to  make  our  best  speed  to  get 
round  them. 

We  scrambled  from  this  ravine,  and  galloping  away 
through  the  hollows,  soon  found  another,  winding  like  a 
snake  among  the  hills,  and  so  deep  that  it  completely  con- 
cealed us.  We  rode  up  the  bottom  of  it,  glancing  through 
the  shrubbery  at  its  edge,  till  Henry  abruptly  jerked  his  rein 


90  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

and  slid-  out  of  his  saddle.  Full  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant, 
on  the  outline  of  the  farthest  hill,  a  long  procession  of  buf- 
falo were  walking,  in  Indian  file,  with  the  utr~ost  gravity 
and  deliberation;  then  more  appeared,  clambering  from  a 
hollow  not  far  off,  and  ascending,  one  behind  the  other, 
the  grassy  slope  of  another  hill;  then  a  shaggy  head  and  a 
pair  of  short  broken  horns  appeared  issuing  out  of  a  ravine 
close  at  hand,  and  with  a  slow,  stately  step,  one  by  one, 
the  enormous  brutes  came  into  view,  taking  their  way  across 
the  valley,  wholly  unconscious  of  an  enemy.  In  a  moment 
Henry  was  worming  his  way,  lying  flat  on  the  ground, 
through  grass  and  prickly-pears,  toward  his  unsuspecting 
victims.  He  had  with  him  both  my  rifle  and  his  own.  He 
was  soon  out  of  sight,  and  still  the  buffalo  kept  issuing  into 
the  valley.  For  a  long  time  all  was  silent;  I  sat  holding 
his  horse,  and  wondering  what  he  was  about,  when  sud- 
den tly,  in  rapid  succession,  came  the  sharp  reports  of  the  two 
rifles,  and  the  whole  line  of  buffalo,  quickening  their  pace 
into  a  clumsy  trot,  gradually  disappeared  over  the  ridge  of 
the  hill.  Henry  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood  looking  after 
them. 

"You  have  missed  them,"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  said  Henry;  "let  us  go."  He  descended  into  the 
ravine,  loaded  the  rifles,  and  mounted  his  horse. 

We  rode  up  the  hill  after  the  buffalo.  The  herd  was 
out  of  sight  when  we  reached  the  top,  but  lying  on  the 
grass  not  far  off  was  one  quite  lifeless,  and  another  violently 
struggling  in  the  death  agony. 

"You  see  I  miss  him!"  remarked  Henry.  He  had  fired 
from  a  distance  of  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards, 
and  both  balls  had  passed  through  the  lungs — the  true  mark 
in  shooting  buffalo. 

The  darkness  increased,  and  a  driving  storm  came  on. 
Tying  our  horses  to  the  horns  of  the  victims,  Henry  began 
the  bloody  work  of  dissection,  slashing  away  with  the  science 


(THE  BUFFALO  91 

of  a  connoisseur,  while  I  vainly  endeavored  to  imitate  him. 
Old  Hendrick  recoiled  with  horror  and  indignation  when  I 
endeavored  to  tie  the  meat  to  the  strings  of  rawhide,  always 
carried  for  this  purpose,  dangling  at  the  back  of  the  saddle. 
After  some  difficulty  we  overcame  his  scruples ;  and  heavily 
burdened  with  the  more  eligible  portions  of  the  buffalo,  we 
set  out  on  our  return.  Scarcely  had  we  emerged  from  the 
labyrinth  of  gorges  and  ravines,  and  issued  upon  the  open 
prairie,  when  the  pricking  sleet  came  driving,  gust  upon 
gust,  directly  in  our  faces.  It  was  strangely  dark,  though 
wanting  still  an  hour  of  sunset.  The  freezing  storm  soon 
penetrated  to  the  skin,  but  the  uneasy  trot  of  our  heavy- 
gaited  horses  kept  us  warm  enough,  as  we  forced  them 
unwillingly  in  the  teeth  of  the  sleet  and  rain  by  the  power- 
ful suasion  of  our  Indian  whips.  The  prairie  in  this  place 
was  hard  and  level.  A  flourishing  colony  of  prairie  dogs 
had  burrowed  into  it  in  every  direction,  and  the  little  mounds 
of  fresh  earth  around  their  holes  were  about  as  numerous  as 
the  hills  in  a  cornfield ;  but  not  a  yelp  was  to  be  heard ;  not 
the  nose  of  a  single  citizen  was  visible ;  all  had  retired  to 
the  depths  of  their  burrows,  and  we  envied  them  their  dry 
and  comfortable  habitations.  An  hour's  hard  riding  showed 
us  our  tent  dimly  looming  through  the  storm,  one  side 
puffed  out  by  the  force  of  the  wind,  and  the  other  collapsed 
in  proportion,  while  the  disconsolate  horses  stood  shivering 
close  around,  and  the  wind  kept  up  a  dismal  whistling  in  the 
boughs  of  three  old  half-dead  trees  above.  Shaw,  like  a 
patriarch,  sat  on  his  saddle  in  the  entrance,  with  a  pipe  in 
his  mouth  and  his  arms  folded,  contemplating  with  cool 
satisfaction  the  piles  of  meat  that  we  flung  on  the  ground 
before  him.  A  dark  and  dreary  night  succeeded ;  but  the  sun 
rose  with  a  heat  so  sultry  and  languid  that  the  captain 
excused  himself  on  that  account  from  waylaying  an  old  buf- 
falo bull,  who  with  stupid  gravity  was  walking  over  the 
prairie  to  drink  at  the  river.  So  much  for  the  climate  of  the 
Plane! 


92  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

But  it  was  not  the  weathet  alone  that  had  produced  this 
sudden  abatement  of  the  sportsmanlike  zeal  which  the  cap- 
tain had  always  professed.  '  He  had  been  out  on  the  after- 
noon before,  together  with  several  members  of  his  party; 
but  their  hunting  was  attended  with  no  other  result  than 
the  loss  of  one  of  their  best  horses,  severely  injured  by 
Sorel  in  vainly  chasing  a  wounded  bull.  The  captain, 
whose  ideas  of  hard  riding  were  all  derived  from  trans- 
atlantic sources,  expressed  the  utmost  amazement  at  the 
feats  of  Sorel,  who  went  leaping  ravines  and  dashing  at  full 
speed  up  and  down  the  sides  of  precipitous  hills,  lashing  his 
horse  with  the  recklessness  of  a  Rocky  Mountain  rider. 
Unfortunately  for  the  poor  animal,  he  was  the  property  of 
R.,  against  whom  Sorel  entertained  an  unbounded  aver- 
sion. The  captain  himself,  it  seemed,  had  also  attempted  to 
"run"  a  buffalo,  but  though  a  good  and  practiced  horseman, 
he  had  soon  given  over  the  attempt,  being  astonished  and 
utterly  disgusted  at  the  nature  of  the  ground  he  was  re- 
quired to  ride  over. 

Nothing  unusual  occurred  on  that  day ;  but  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning  Henry  Chatillon,  looking  over  the  ocean- 
like  expanse,  saw  near  the  foot  of  the  distant  hills  some- 
thing that  looked  like  a  band  of  buffalo.  He  was  not  sure, 
he  said,  but  at  all  events,  if  they  were  buffalo  there  was  a 
fine  chance  for  a  race.  Shaw  and  I  at  once  determined  to 
try  the  speed  of  our  horses. 

"Come,  captain;  we'll  see  which  can  ride  hardest,  a 
Yankee  or  an  Irishman." 

But  the  captain  maintained  a  grave  and  austere  counte- 
nance. He  mounted  his  led  horse,  however,  though  very 
slowly,  and  we  set  out  at  a  trot.  The  game  appeared  about 
three  miles  distant.  As  we  proceeded  the  captain  made 
various  remarks  of  doubt  and  indecision,  and  at  length  de- 
clared he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  a  breakneck 
business;  protesting  that  he  had  ridden  plenty  of  steeple- 


THE  BUFFALO 


you? 


JThe  method  of  hunting  called  "running"  consists  in  attacking  the  buffalo  on 
horseback  and  shooting  him  with  bullets  or  arrows  when  at  full-speed.  In  "ap- 
proaching," the  hunter  conceals  himself  and  crawls  on  the  ground  toward  the 
game,  or  lies  in  wait  to  kill  them. — Author's  note. 

2Head  man,  principal  trader. 

3 Beaver  skins. 


94  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

They  were  about  four  miles  in  advance.  In  half  an  hour  I 
overtook  them,  got  the  letter,  trotted  back  upon  the  trail,  and 
looking  carefully  as  I  rode,  saw  a  patch  of  broken,  storm- 
blasted  trees,  and  moving  near  them  some  little  black  specks 
like  men  and  horses.  Arriving  at  the  place,  I  found  a  strange 
assembly.  The  boats,  eleven  in. number,  deep-laden  with  the 
skins,  hugged  close  to  the  shore  to  escape  being  borne  down 
by  the  swift  current.  The  rowers,  swarthy  ignoble  Mexi- 
cans, turned  their  brutish  faces  upward  to  look  as  I  reached 
the  bank.  Papin  sat  in  the  middle  of  one  of  the  boats  upon 
the  canvas  covering  that  protected  the  robes.  He  was  a  stout, 
robust  fellow,  with  a  little  gray  eye  that  had  a  peculiarly 
sly  twinkle.  "Frederic"  also  stretched  his  tall  rawboned 
proportions  close  by  the  bourgeois,  and  "mountain-men" 
completed  the  group ;  some  lounging  in  the  boats,  some  stroll- 
ing on  shore ;  some  attired  in  gayly  painted  buffalo  robes  like 
Indian  dandies ;  some  with  hair  saturated  with  red  paint,  and 
beplastered  with  glue  to  their  temples ;  and  one  bedaubed 
with 'vermilion  upon  his  forehead  and  each  cheek.  They  were 
a  mongrel  race,. yet  the  French  blood  seemed  to  predominate; 
in  a  few,  indeed,  might  be  seen  the  black  snaky  eye  of  the 
Indian  half-breed ;  and  one  and  all,  they  seemed  to  aim  at 
assimilating  themselves  to  their  savage  associates. 

I  shook  hands  with  the  bourgeois  and  delivered  the  let- 
ter; then  the  boats  swung  around  into  the  stream  and  floated 
away.  They  had  reason  for  haste,  for  already  the  voyage 
from  Fort  Laramie  had  occupied  a  full  month,  and  the  river 
was  growing  daily  more  shallow.  Fifty  times  a  day  the 
boats  had  been  aground ;  indeed,  those  who  navigate  the 
Platte  invariably  spend  half  their  time  upon  sand-bars.  Two 
of  these  boats,  the  property  of  private  traders,  afterward 
separating  from  the  rest,  got  hopelessly  involved  in  the 
shallows,  not  very  far  from  the  Pawnee  villages,  and  were 
soon  surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  the  inhabitants.  They  car- 
ried off  everything  that  they  considered  valuable,  including 


THE  BUFFALO  95 

most  of  the  robes ;  and  amused  themselves  by  tying  up  the 
men  left  on  guard,  and  soundly  whipping  them  with  sticks. 
We  encamped  that  night  upon  the  bank  of  the  river, 
long  the  emigrants  there  was  an  overgrown  boy,  some 
;hteen  years  old,  with  a  head  as  round  and  about  as 
arge  as  a  pumpkin,  and  fever-and-ague  fits  had  dyed  his 
face  of  a  corresponding  color.  He  wore  an  old  white  hat, 
tied  under  his  chin  with  a  handkerchief;  his  body  was  short 
and  stout,  but  his  legs  of  disproportioned  and  appalling 
length.  I  observed  him  at  sunset  breasting  the  hill  with 
gigantic  strides,  and  standing  against  the  sky  on  the  sum- 

:like  a  colossal  pair  of  tongs.  In  a  moment  after  we 
rd  him  screaming  frantically  behind  the  ridge,  and  nothing 
ibting  that  he  was  in  the  clutches  of  Indians  or  grizzly 
bears,  some  of  the  party  caught  up  their  rifles  and  ran  to 
the  rescue.  His  outcries,  however,  proved  but  an  ebullition 
of  joyous  excitement ;  he  had  chased  two  little  wolf  pups 
to  their  burrow,  and  he  was  on  his  knees,  grubbing  away 
like  a  dog  at  the  mouth  of  the  hole,  to  get  at  them. 

Before  morning  he  caused  more  serious  disquiet  in  the 
camp.  It  was  his  turn  to  hold  the  middle  guard ;  but  no 
sooner  was  he  called  up  than  he  coolly  arranged  a  pair  of 
saddle-bags  under  a  wagon,  laid  his  head  upon  them,  closed 
his  eyes,  opened  his  mouth,  and  fell  asleep.  The  guard  on 
our  side  of  the  camp,  thinking  it  no  part  of  his  duty  to  look 
after  the  cattle  of  the  emigrants,  contented  himself  with 
watching  our  own  horses  and  mules;  the  wolves,  he  said, 
were  unusually  noisy;  but  still  no  mischief  was  anticipated 
until  the  sun  rose,  and  not  a  hoof  or  horn  was  in  sight! 
The  cattle  were  gone !  White  Tom  was  quietly  slumbering, 
the  wolves  had  driven  them  away. 

Then  we  reaped  the  fruits  of  R.'s  precious  plan  of  travel- 
in  company  with  emigrants.  To  leave  them  in  their 
distress  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  and  we  felt  bound  to  wait 

til  the  cattle  could  be  searched  for,  and,  if  possible,  recov- 


96  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

ered.  But  the  reader  may  be  curious  to  know  what  punish- 
ment awaited  the  faithless  Tom.  By  the  wholesome  law  of 
the  prairie,,  he  who  falls  asleep  on  guard  is  condemned  to 
walk  all  day,  leading  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  we  found 
much  fault  with  our  companions  for  not  enforcing  such  a 
sentence  on  the  offender.  Nevertheless,  had  he  been  of  our 
own  party,  I  have  no  doubt  he  wrould  in  like  manner  have 
escaped  scot-free.  But  the  emigrants  went  farther  than 
mere  forbearance :  they  decreed  that  since  Tom  couldn't 
stand  guard  without  falling  asleep,  he  shouldn't  stand  guard 
at  all,  and  henceforward  his  slumbers  were  unbroken.  Estab- 
lishing such  a  premium  on  drowsiness  could  have  no  very 
beneficial  effect  upon  the  vigilance  of  our  sentinels;  for  it  is 
far  from  agreeable,  after  riding  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  to 
feel  your  slumbers  interrupted  by  the  butt  of  a  rifle  nudging 
your  side,  and  a  sleepy  voice  growling  in  your  ear  that  you 
must  get  up,  to  shiver  and  freeze  for  three  weary  hours  at 
midnight. 

"Buffalo!  buffalo!"  It  was  but  a  grim  old  bull,  roam- 
ing the  prairie  by  himself  in  misanthropic  seclusion ;  but  there 
might  be  more  behind  the  hills.  Dreading  the  monotony 
and  languor  of  the  camp,  Shaw  and  I  saddled  our  horses, 
buckled  our  holsters  in  their  places,  and  set  out  with  Henry 
Chatillon  in  search  of  the  game.  Henry,  not  intending  to 
take  part  in  the  chase,  but  merely  conducting  us,  carried  his 
rifle  with  him,  while  we  left  ours  behind  as  incumbrances. 
We  rode  for  some  five  or  six  miles,  and  saw  no  living  thing 
but  wolves,  shakes,  and  prairie  dogs. 

"This  won't  do  at  all,"  said  Shaw. 

"What  won't  do?" 

"There's  no  wood  about  here  to  make  a  litter  for  the 
wounded  man ;  I  have  an  idea  that  one  of  us  will  need  some- 
thing of  the  sort  before  the  day  is  over." 

There  was  some  foundation  for  such  an  apprehension, 
for  the  ground  was  none  of  the  best  for  a  race,  and  grew 


THE  BUFFALO  97 

worse  continually  as  we  proceeded;  indeed  it  soon  became 
desperately  bad,  consisting  of  abrupt  hills  and  deep  hollows, 
cut  by  frequent  ravines  not  easy  to  pass.  At  length,  a  mile 
in  advance,  we  saw  a  band  of  bulls.  Some  were  scattered 
grazing  over  a  green  declivity,  while  the  rest  were  crowded 
more  densely  together  in  the  wide  hollow  below.  Making 
a  circuit  to  keep  out  of  sight,  we  rode  toward  them  until 
we  ascended  a  hill  within  a  furlong  of  them,  beyond  which 
nothing  intervened  that  could  possibly  screen  us  from  their 
view.  We  dismounted  behind  the  ridge  just  out  of  sight, 
drew1  our  saddle-girths,  examined  our  pistols,  and  mount- 
ing again  rode  over  the  hill  and  descended  at  a  canter 
toward  them,  bending  close  to  our  horses'  necks.  Instantly 
they  took  the  alarm ;  those  on  the  hill  descended ;  those  below 
gathered  into  a  mass,  and  the  whole  got  in  motion,  shoulder- 
ing each  other  along  at  a  clumsy  gallop.  We  followed, 
spurring  our  horses  to  full  speed ;  and  as  the  herd  rushed, 
crowding  and  trampling  in  terror  through  an  opening  in  the 
hills,  we  were  close  at  their  heels,  half  suffocated  by  the 
clouds  of  dust.  But  as  we  drew  near,  their  alarm  and 
speed  increased ;  our  horses  showed  signs  of  the  utmost  fear, 
bounding  violently  aside  as  we  approached,  and  refusing  to 
enter  among  the  herd.  The  buffalo  now  broke  into  several 
small  bodies,  scampering  over  the  hills  in  different  directions^ 
and  I  lost  sight  of  Shaw;  neither  of  us  knew  where  the 
other  had  gone.  Old  Pontiac  ran  like  a  frantic  elephant 
up  hill  and  down  hill,  his  ponderous  hoofs  striking  the 
prairie  like  sledge-hammers.  He  showed  a  curious  mixture 
of  eagerness  and  terror,  straining  to  overtake  the  panic- 
stricken  herd,  but  constantly  recoiling  in  dismay  as  we  drew 
near.  The  fugitives,  indeed,  offered  no  very  attractive  spec- 
tacle, with  their  enormous  size  and  weight,  their  shaggy 
manes  and  the  tattered  remnants  of  their  last  winter's  hair 
covering  their  backs  in  irregular  shreds  and  patches,  and 

1Tightened,  (in  anticipation  of  hard  riding). 


98  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

flying  off  in  the  wind  as  they  ran.  At  length  I  urged  my 
horse  close  behind  a  bull,  and  after  trying  in  vain,  by  blows 
and  spurring,  to  bring  him  alongside,  I  shot  a  bullet  into  the 
buffalo  from  this  disadvantageous  position.  At  the  report, 
Pontiac  swerved  so  much  that  I  was  again  thrown  a  little 
behind  the  game.  The  bullet,  entering  too  much  in  the  rear, 
failed  to  disable  the  bull,  for  a  buffalo  requires  to  be  shot  at 
particular  points  or  he  will  certainly  escape.  The  herd  ran 
up  a  hill,  and  I  followed  in  pursuit.  As  Pontiac  rushed 
headlong  down  on  the  other  side,  I  saw  Shaw  and  Henry 
descending  the  hollow  on  the  right  at  a  leisurely  gallop; 
and  in  front,  the  buffalo  were  just  disappearing  behind  the 
crest  of  the  next  hill,  their  short  tails  erect  and  their  hoofs 
twinkling  through  a  cloud  of  dust. 

At  that  moment  I  heard  Shaw  and  Henry  shouting  to 
me;  but  the  muscles  of  a  stronger  arm  than  mine  could  not 
have  checked  at  once  the  furious  course  of  Pontiac,  whose 
mouth  was  as  insensible  as  leather.  Added  to  this,  I  rode 
him  that  morning  with  a  common  snaffle,  having  the  day 
before,  for  the  benefit  of  my  other  horse,  unbuckled  from 
my  bridle  the  curb  which  I  ordinarily  used.  A  stronger  and 
hardier  brute  never  trod  the  prairie;  but  the  novel  sight  of 
the  buffalo  filled  him  with  terror,  and  when  at  full  speed 
he  was  almost  incontrollable.  Gaining  the  top  of  the  ridge, 
I  saw  nothing  of  the  buffalo ;  they  had  all  vanished  amid 
the  intricacies  of  the  hills  and  hollows.  Reloading  my  pistols 
in  the  best  way  I  could,  I  galloped  on  until  I  saw  them 
again  scuttling  along  at  the  base  of  the  hill,  their  panic 
somewhat  abated.  Down  went  old  Pontiac  among  them, 
scattering  them  to  the  right  and  left,  and  then  we  had 
another  long  chase.  About  a  dozen  bulls  were  before  us, 
scouring  over  the  hills,  rushing  down  the  declivities  with  tre- 
mendous weight  and  impetuosity,  and  then  laboring  with  a 
weary  gallop  upward.  Still  Pontiac,  in  spite  of  spurring 
and  beating,  would  not  close  with  them.  One  bull  at  length 


THE  BUFFALO  99 

fell  a  little  behind  the  rest,  and  by  dint  of  much  effort  I 
urged  my  horse  within  six  or  eight  yards  of  his  side.  His 
back  was  darkened  with  sweat,  and  he  was  panting  heavily, 
while  his  tongue  lolled  out  a  foot  from  his  jaws.  Gradually 
I  came  up  abreast  of  him,  urging  Pontiac  with  leg  and  rein 
nearer  to  his  side,  when  suddenly  he  did  what  buffalo  in 
such  circumstances  will  ahvays  do:  he  slackened  his  gallop, 
and  turning  toward  us  with  an  aspect  of  mingled  rage  and 
distress,  lowered  his  huge  shaggy  head  for  a  charge.  Pontiac, 
with  a  snort,  leaped  aside  in  terror,  nearly  throwing  me 
to  the  ground,  as  I  was  wholly  unprepared  for  such  an 
evolution.  I  raised  my  pistol  in  a  passion  to  strike  him  on 
the  head,  but  thinking  better  of  it,  fired  the  bullet  after  the 
bull,  who  had  resumed  his  flight ;  then  drew  rein,  and  deter- 
mined to  rejoin  my  companions.  It  was  high  time.  The 
breath  blew  <  hard  from  Pontiac's  nostrils,  and  the  sweat 
rolled  in  big  drops  down  his  sides;  I  myself  felt  as  if 
drenched  in  warm  water.  Pledging  myself  (and  I  redeemed 
the  pledge)  to  take  my  revenge  at  a  future  opportunity,  I 
looked  round  for  some  indications  to  show  me  where  I  was, 
and  what  course  I  ought  to  pursue.  I  might  as  well  have 
looked  for  landmarks  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean.  How  many 
miles  I  had  run  or  in  what  direction,  I  had  no  idea;  and 
around  me  the  prairie  was  rolling  in  steep  swells  and  pitches, 
without  a  single  distinctive  feature  to  guide  me.  I  had  a 
little  compass  hung  at  my  neck;  and  ignorant  that  the  Platte 
at  this  point  diverged  considerably  from  its  easterly  course, 
I  thought  that  by  keeping  to  the  northward  I  should  certainly 
reach  it.  So  I  turned  and  rode  about  two  hours  in  that 
direction.  The  prairie  changed  as  I  advanced,  softening  away 
into  easier  undulations,  but  nothing  like  the  Platte  appeared, 
nor  any  sign  of  a  human  being;  the  same  wild  endless 
expanse  lay  around  me  still;  and  to  all  appearance  I  was  as 
far  from  my  object  as  ever.  I  began  now  to  consider  myself 
in  danger  of  being  lost;  and  therefore,  reining  in  my  horse, 


100  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

summoned  the  scanty  share  of  woodcraft  that  I  possessed  (if 
that  term  be  applicable  upon  the  prairie)  to  extricate  me. 
Looking  round,  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  buffalo  might 
prove  my  best  guides.  I  soon  found  one  of  the  paths  made 
by  them  in  their  passage  to  the  river;  it  ran  nearly  at  right 
angles  to  my  course;  but  turning  my  horse's  head  in  the 
direction  it  indicated,  his  freer  gait  and  erected  ears  assured 
me  that  I  was  right. 

But  in  the  meantime  my  ride  had  been  by  no  means  a 
solitary  one.  *  The  whole  face  of  the  country  was  dotted  far 
and  wide  with  countless  hundreds  of  buffalo.  They  trooped 
along  in  files  and  columns,  bulls,  cows,  and  calves,  on  the 
green  faces  of  the  declivities  in  front.  They  scrambled  away 
over  the  hills  to  the  right  and  left ;  and  far  off,  the  pale 
blue  swells  in  the  extreme  distance  were  dotted  with  innu- 
merable specks.  Sometimes  I  surprised  shaggy  old  bulls 
grazing  alone,  or  sleeping  behind  the  ridges  I  ascended. 
They  would  leap  up  at  my  approach,  stare  stupidly  at  me 
through  their  tangled  manes,  and  then  gallop  heavily  away. 
The  antelope  were  very  numerous;  and  as  they  are  always 
bold  when  in  the  neighborhood  of  buffalo,  they  would 
approach  quite  near  to  look  at  me,  gazing  intently  with  their 
great  round  eyes,  then  suddenly  leap  aside  and  stretch  lightly 
away  over  the  prairie  as  swiftly  as  a  racehorse.  Squalid, 
ruffianlike  wolves  sneaked  through  the  hollows  and  sandy 
ravines.  Several  times  I  passed  through  villages  of  prairie 
dogs,  who  sat,  each  at  the  mouth  of  his  burrow,  holding  his 
paws  before  him  in  a  supplicating  attitude  and  yelping  away 
most  vehemently,  energetically  whisking  his  little  tail  with 
every  squeaking  cry  he  uttered.  Prairie  dogs  are  not  fas- 
tidious in  their  choice  of  companions;  various  long,  check- 
ered snakes  were  sunning  themselves  in  the  midst  of  the  vil- 
lage, and  demure  little  gray  owls,  with  a  large  white  ring 
around  each  eye,  were  perched  side  by  side  with  the  rightful 
inhabitants.  The  prairie  teemed  with  life.  Again  and  again 


THE  BUFFALO  101 

I  looked  toward  the  crowded  hillsides,  and  was  sure  I  saw 
horsemen ;  and  riding  near,  with  a  mixture  of  hope  and 
dread,  for  Indians  were  abroad,  I  found  them"  transformed 
into  a  group  of  buffalo.  There  was  nothing  in  human 
shape  amid  all  this  vast  congregation  of  brute  forms. 

When  I  turned  down  the  buffalo  path,  the  prairie  seemed 
changed ;  only  a  wolf  or  two  glided  past  at  intervals,  like 
conscious  felons,  never  looking  to  the  right  or  left.  Being 
now  free  from  anxiety,  I  was  at  leisure  to  observe  minutely 
the  objects  around  me;  and  here,  for  the  first  time,  I  noticed 
insects  wholly  different  from  any  of  the  varieties  found 
farther  to  the  eastward.  Gaudy  butterflies  fluttered  about 
my  horse's  head ;  strangely  formed  beetles,  glittering  with 
metallic  luster,  wrere  crawling  upon  plants  that  I  had  never 
seen  before;  multitudes  of  lizards,  too,  were  darting  like 
lightning  over  the  sand. 

I  had  run  to  a  great  distance  from  the  river.  It  cost  me 
a  long  ride  on  the  buffalo  path  before  I  saw  from  the  rijge 
of  a  sand-hill  the  pale  surface  of  the  Platte  glistening  in  the 
midst  of  its  desert  valleys,  and  the  faint  outline  of  the  hills 
beyond  waving  along  the  sky.  From  where  I  stood,  not 
a  tree  nor  a  bush  nor  a  living  thing  was  visible  throughout 
the  whole  extent  of  the  sun-scorched  landscape.  In  half  an 
hour  I  came  upon  the  trail,  not  far  from  the  river ;  and  seeing 
that  the  party  had  not  yet  passed,  I  turned  eastward  to  meet 
them,  old  Pontiac's  long  swinging  trot  again  assuring  me 
that  I  was  right  in  doing  so.  Having  been  slightly  ill  on 
leaving  camp  in  the  morning,  six  or  seven  hours  of  rough 
riding  had  fatigued  me  extremely.  I  soon  stopped,  there- 
fore; flung  my  saddle  on  the  ground,  and  with  my  head 
resting  on  it,  and  my  horse's  trail-rope  tied  loosely  to  my 
arm,  lay  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  party,  speculating  mean- 
while on  the  extent  of  the  injuries  Pontiac  had  received.  At 
length  the  white  wagon  coverings  rose  from  the  verge  of 
the  plain.  By  a  singular  coincidence,  almost  at  the  same 


102  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

moment  two  horsemen  appeared  coming  down  from  the  hills. 
They  were  Shaw  and  Henry,  who  had  searched  for  me 
awhile  in  the  morning,  but  well  knowing  the  futility  of  the 
attempt  in  such  a  broken  country,  had  placed  themselves  on 
the  top  of  the  highest  hill  they  could  find,  and  picketing  their 
horses  near  them,  as  a  signal  to  me,  had  laid  down  and  fallen 
asleep.  The  stray  cattle  had  been  recovered,  as  the  emi- 
grants told  us,  about  noon.  Before  sunset,  we  pushed  for- 
ward eight  miles  farther. 

"JUNE  7,  1846. — Four  men  are  missing;  R.,  Sorel,  and  two  emi- 
grants. They  set  out  this  morning  after  buffalo,  and  have  not  yet 
made  their  appearance ;  whether  killed  or  lost,  we  cannot  tell." 

I  find  the  above  in  my  notebook,  and  well  remember  the 
council  held  on  the  occasion.  Our  fire  was  the  scene  of  it; 
for  the  palpable  superiority  of  Henry  Chatillon's  experience 
and  skill  made  him  the  resort  of  the  whole  camp  upon  every 
question  of  difficulty.  He  was  moulding  bullets  at  the  fire, 
<when  the  captain  drew  near,  with  a  perturbed  and  care- 
worn expression  of  countenance,  faithfully  reflected  on  the 
heavy  features  of  Jack,  who  followed  close  behind.  Then 
emigrants  came  straggling  from  their  wagons  toward  the 
common  center;  various  suggestions  were  made  to  account 
for  the  absence  of  the  four  men,  and  one  or  two  of  the 
emigrants  declared  that  when  out  after  the  cattle  they  had 
seen  Indians  dogging  them,  and  crawling  like  wolves  along 
the  ridges  of  the  hills.  At  this  the  captain  slowrly  shook 
his  head  with  double  gravity,  and  solemnly  remarked : 

"It's  a  serious  thing  to  be  traveling  through  this  cursed 
wilderness;"  an  opinion  in  which  Jack  immediately  expressed 
a  thorough  coincidence.  Henry  would  not  commit  himself 
by  declaring  any  positive  opinion : 

"Maybe  he  only  follow  the  buffalo  too  far;  maybe  Indian 
kill  him;  maybe  he  got  lost;  I  cannot  tell!" 

With  this  the  auditors  were  obliged  to  rest  content;  the 
emigrants,  not  in  the  least  alarmed,  though  curious  to  know 


what  had  be 


THE  BUFFALO  103 


lat  had  become  of  their  comrades,  walked  back  to  their 
wagons,  and  the  captain  betook  himself  pensively  to  his  tent. 
Shaw  and  I  followed  his  example. 

"It  will  be  a  bad  thing  for  our  plans,"  said  he  as  we 
entered,  "if  these  fellows  don't  get  back  safe.  The  captain 
'is  as  helpless  on  the  prairie  as  a  child.  We  shall  have  to 
take  him  and  his  brother  in  tow;  they  will  hang  on  us  like 
lead." 

"The  prairie  is  a  strange  place,"  said  I.  "A  month  ago 
I  should  have  thought  m  it  rather  a  startling  affair  to  have 
an  acquaintance  ride  out  in  the  morning  and  lose  his  scalp 
before  night,  but  here  it  seems  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world;  not  that  I  believe  that  R.  has  lost  his  yet." 

If  a  man  is  constitutionally  liable  to  nervous  apprehen- 
sions, a  tour  on  the  distant  prairies  would  prove  the  best 
prescription ;  for  though,  when  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  he  may  at  times  find  himself  placed  in 
circumstances  of  some  danger,  I  believe  that  few  ever  breathe 
that  reckless  atmosphere  without  becoming  almost  indifferent 
to  any  evil  chance  that  may  befall  themselves  or  their 
friends. 

Shaw  had  a  propensity  for  luxurious  indulgence.  He 
spread  his  blanket  with  the  utmost  accuracy  on  the  ground ; 
picked  up  the  sticks  and  stones  that  he  thought  might  inter- 
fere with  his  comfort,  adjusted  his  saddle  to  serve  as  a 
pillow,  and  composed  himself  for  his  night's  rest.  I  had 
the  first  guard  that  evening;  so,  taking  my  rifle,  I  went  out 
of  the  tent.  It  was  perfectly  dark.  A  brisk  wind  blew 
down  from  the  hills,  and  the  sparks  from  the  fire  were 
streaming  over  the  prairie.  One  of  the  emigrants,  named 
Morton,  was  my  companion ;  and  laying  our  rifles  on  the 
grass,  we  sat  down  together  by  the  fire.  Morton  was  a 
Kentuckian,  an  athletic  fellow,  with  a  fine  intelligent  face, 
and  in  his  manners  and  conversation  he  showed  the  essential 
characteristics  of  a  gentleman.  Our  conversation  turned  on 


104  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

the  pioneers  of  his  gallant  native  State.  The  three  hours  of 
our  watch  dragged  away  at  last,  and  we  went  to  call  up 
the  relief. 

R.'s  guard  succeeded  mine.  He  was  absent;  but  the 
captain,  anxious  lest  the  camp  should  be  left  defenseless,  had 
volunteered  to  stand  in  his  place;  so  I  went  to  wake  him  up. 
There  was  no  occasion  for  it,  for  the  captain  had  been  awake 
since  nightfall.  A  fire  was  blazing  outside  of  the  tent,  and 
by  the  light  which  struck  through  the  canvas,  I  saw  him 
and  Jack  lying  on  their  backs  with  their  eyes  wide  open. 
The  captain  responded  instantly  to  my  call;  he  jumped  up, 
seized  the  double-barreled  rifle,  and  came  out  of  the  tent  with 
an  air  of  solemn  determination,  as  if  about  to  devote  himself 
to  the  safety  of  the  party.  I  went  and  lay  down,  not  doubt- 
ing that  for  the  next  three  hours  our  slumbers  would  be 
guarded  with  sufficient  vigilance. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

TAKING    FRENCH    LEAVE 

On  the  eighth  of  June,  at  eleven  o'clock,  we  reached  the 
South  Fork  of  the  Platte,  at  the  usual  fording  place.  For 
league  upon  league  the  desert  uniformity  of  the  prospect 
was  almost  unbroken ;  the  hills  were  dotted  with  little  tufts 
of  shriveled  grass,  but  betwixt  these  the  white  sand  was  glar- 
ing in  the  sun;  and  the  channel  of  the  river,  almost  on  a 
level  with  the  plain,  was  but  one  great  sand-bed,  about  half 
a  mile  wide.  It  was  covered  with  water,  but  so  scantily 
that  the  bottom  was  scarcely  hidden ;  for,  wide  as  it  is,  the 
average  depth  of  the  Platte  does  not  at  this  point  exceed  a 
foot  and  a  half.  Stopping  near  its  bank,  we  gathered  bois 
de  vache  and  made  a  meal  of  buffalo  meat.  Far  off,  on  the 
other  side,  was  a  green  meadow,  where  we  could  see  the 
white  tents  and  wagons  of  an  emigrant  camp;  and  just  oppo- 
site to  us  we  could  discern  a  group  of  men  and  animals  at 
the  water's  edge.  Four  or  five  horesmen  soon  entered  the 
river,  and  in  ten  minutes  had  waded  across  and  clambered 
up  the  loose  sand-bank.  They  were  ill-looking  fellows,  thin 
and  swarthy,  with  care-worn,  anxious  faces  and  lips  rigidly 
compressed.  They  had  good  cause  for  anxiety;  it  was  three 
days  since  they  first  encamped  here,  and  on  the  night  of  their 
arrival  they  had  lost  one  hundred  and  twenty-three  of  their 
best  cattle,  driven  off  by  the  wolves,  through  the  neglect 
of  the  man  on  guard.  This  discouraging  and  alarming 
calamity  was  not  the  first  that  had  overtaken  them.  Since 
leaving  the  settlements,  they  had  met  with  nothing  but  mis- 
fortune. Some  of  their  party  had  died ;  one  man  had  been 
killed  by  the  Pawnees ;  and  about  a  week  before,  they  had 
been  plundered  by  the  Dakota  of  all  their  best  horses,  the 

105 


W6  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

wretched  animals  on  which  our  visitors  were  mounted  being 
the  only  ones  that  were  left.  They  had  encamped,  they 
told  us,  near  sunset,  by  the  side  of  the  Platte,  and  their  oxen 
were  scattered  over  the  meadow,  while  the  band  of  horses 
were  feeding  a  little  farther  off.  Suddenly  the  ridges  of  the 
hills  were  alive  with  a  swarm  of  mounted  Indians,  at  least 
six  hundred  in  number,  who,  with  a  tremendous  yell,  came 
pouring  down  toward  the  camp,  rushing  up  within  a  few 
rods,  to  the  great  terror  of  the  emigrants;  but  suddenly 
wheeling,  they  swept  around  the  band  of  horses,  and  in  five 
minutes  had  disappeared  with  their  prey  through  the  open- 
ings of  the  hills. 

As  these  emigrants  were  telling  their  story,  we  saw  four 
other  men  approaching.  They  proved  to  be  R.  and  his  com- 
panions, who  had  encountered  no  mischance  of  any  kind,  but 
had  only  wandered  too  far  in  pursuit  of  the  game.  They 
said  they  had  seen  no  Indians,  but  only  "millions  of  buffalo" ; 
and  both  R.  and  Sorel  had  meat  dangling  behind  their 
saddles. 

The  emigrants  re-crossed  the  river,  and  we  prepared  to 
follow.  First  the  heavy  ox-wagons  plunged  down  the  bank, 
and  dragged  slowly  over  the  sand-beds;  sometimes  the  hoofs 
of  the  oxen  were  scarcely  wetted  by  the  thin  sheet  of  water, 
and  the  next  moment  the  river  would  be  boiling  against  their 
sides,  and  eddying  fiercely  around  the  wheels.  Inch  by  inch 
they  receded  from  the  shore,  dwindling  every  moment,  until 
at  length  they  seemed  to  be  floating  far  in  the  very  middle 
of  the  river.  A  more  critical  experiment  awaited  us,  for  our 
little  mule-cart  was  but  ill-fitted  for  the  passage  of  so  swift 
a  stream.  We  watched  it  with  anxiety  till  it  seemed  to  be 
a  little  motionless  white  speck  in  the  midst  of  the  waters; 
and  it  was  motionless,  for  it  had  stuck  fast  in  a  quicksand. 
The  little  mules  were  losing  their  footing,  the  wheels  were 
sinking  deeper  and  deeper,  and  the  water  began  to  rise 
through  the  bottom  and  drench  the  goods  within.  All  of  us 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE  107 

who  had  remained  on  the  hither  bank  galloped  to  the  rescue  ; 
the  men  jumped  into  the  water,  adding  their  strength  to 
that  of  the  mules,  until  by  much  effort  the  cart  was  extri- 
cated, and  conveyed  in  safety  across. 

As  we  gained  the  other  bank,  a  rough  group  of  men  sur- 
rounded us.  They  were  not  robust,  nor  large  of  frame,  yet 
they  had  an  aspect  of  hardy  endurance.  Finding  at  home 
no  scope  for  their  fiery  energies,  they  had  betaken  themselves 
to  the  prairie;  and  in  them  seemed  to  be  revived,  with 
redoubled  force,  that  fierce  spirit  which  impelled  their  ances- 
tors, scarce  more  lawless  than  themselves,  from  the  German 
forests,  to  inundate  Europe  and  break  to  pieces  the  Roman 
empire.  A  fortnight  afterward  this  unfortunate  party  passed 
Fort  Laramie,  while  we  were  there.  Not  one  of  their  miss- 
ing oxen  had  been  recovered,  though  they  had  remained 
encamped  a  week  in  search  of  them ;  and  they  had  been  com- 
pelled to  abandon  a  great  part  of  their  baggage  and  pro- 
visions, and  yoke  cows  and  heifers  to  their  wagons  to  carry 
them  forward  upon  their  journey,  the  most  toilsome  and 
hazardous  part  of  which  lay  still  before  them. 

It  is  worth  noticing  that  on  the  Platte  one  may  some- 
times see  the  shattered  wrecks  of  ancient  claw-footed  tables, 
well  waxed  and  rubbed,  or  massive  bureaus  of  carved  oak. 
These,  many  of  them  no  doubt  the  relics  of  ancestral  pros- 
perity in  the  colonial  time,  must  have  encountered  strange 
vicissitudes.  Imported,  perhaps,  originally  from  England  ; 
then,  with  the  declining  fortunes  of  their  owners,  borne  across 
the  Alleghenies  to  the  remote  wilderness  of  Ohio  or  Ken- 
tucky; then  to  Illinois  or  Missouri;*  and  now  at  last  fondly 
stowed  away  in  the  family  wagon  for  the  interminable  jour- 
ney to  Oregon.  But  the  stern  privations  of  the  way  are 
little  anticipated.  The  cherished  relic  is  soon  flung  out  to 
scorch  and  crack  upon  the  hot  prairie. 

We  resumed  our  journey;  but  we  had  gone  scarcely  a 
mile,  when  R.  called  out  from  the  rear: 


108  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

"We'll  camp  here!" 

"Why  dd  you  want  to  camp?  Look  at  the  sun.  It  is 
not  three  o'clock  yet." 

"We'll  camp  here!" 

This  was  the  only  reply  vouchsafed.  Deslauriers  wras  in 
advance  with  his  cart.  Seeing  the  mule-wagon  wheeling 
from  the  track,  he  began  to  turn  his  own  team  in  the  same 
direction. 

"Go  on,  Deslauriers,"  and  the  little  cart  advanced  again. 
As  we  rode  on,  we  soon  heard  the  wagon  of  our  confederates 
creaking  and  jolting  on  behind  us,  and  the  driver,  Wright, 
discharging  a  furious  volley  of  oaths  against  his  mules;  no 
doubt  venting  upon  them  the  wrath  which  he  dared  not  direct 
against  a  more  appropriate  object. 

Something  of  this  sort  had  frequently  occurred.  Our 
English  friend  was  by  no  means  partial  to  us,  and  we  thought 
we  discovered  in  his  conduct  a  deliberate  intention  to  thwart 
and  annoy  us,  especially  by  retarding  the  movements  of  the 
party,  which  he  knew  that  we,  being  Yankees,  were  anxious 
to  quicken.  Therefore  he  would  insist  on  encamping  at  all 
unseasonable  hours,  saying  that  fifteen  miles  was  a  sufficient 
day's  journey.  Finding  our  wishes  systematically  disregarded, 
we  took  the  direction  of  affairs  into  our  own  hands.  Keep- 
ing always  in  advance,  to  the  inexpressible  indignation  of  R., 
-we  encamped  at  what  time  and  place  we  thought  proper, 
not  much  caring  whether  the  rest  chose  to  follow  or  not. 
They  always  did  so,  however,  pitching  their  tents  near  ours, 
with  sullen  and  wrathful  countenances. 

Traveling  together  on  these  agreeable  terms  did  not  suit 
our  tastes;  for  some  time  we  had  meditated  a  separation. 
The  connection  with  this  party  had  cost  us  various  delays 
and  inconveniences;  and  the  glaring  want  of  courtesy  and 
good  sense  displayed  by  their  virtual  leader  did  not  dispose 
us  to  bear  these  annoyances  with  much  patience.  We  resolved 
to  leave  camp  early  in  the  morning,  and  push  forward  as 


rapidly  as  pc 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE  109 


>idly  as  possible  for  Fort  Laramie,  which  we  hoped  to 
reach,  by  hard  traveling,  in  four  or  five  days.  The  captain 
soon  trotted  up  between  us,  and  we  explained  our  intentions. 
"A  very  extraordinary  proceeding,  upon  my  word!"  he 
remarked.  Then  he  began  to  enlarge  upon  the  enormity  of 
the  design.  The  most  prominent  impression  in  his  mind 
evidently  was  that  we  were  acting  a  base  and  treacherous 
part,  in  deserting  his  party  in  what  he  considered  a  very 
dangerous  stage  of  the  journey.  To  palliate  the  atrocity  of 
our  conduct,  we  ventured  to  suggest  that  we  were  only  four 
in  number,  while  his  party  still  included  sixteen  men ;  and 
as,  moreover,  we  were  to  go  forward  and  they  were  to  fol- 
low, at  least  a  full  proportion  of  the  perils  he  apprehended 
would  fall  upon  us.  But  the  austerity  of  the  captain's  fea- 
tures would  not  relax.  "A  very  extraordinary  proceeding, 
gentlemen !"  and  repeating  this,  he  rode  off  to  confer  with 
his  principal. 

By  good  luck,  we  found  a  meadow  of  fresh  grass,  and  a 
large  pool  of  rain-water  in  the  midst  of  it.  We  encamped 
here  at  sunset.  Plenty  of  buffalo  skulls  were  lying  around, 
bleaching  in  the  sun ;  and  sprinkled  thickly  among  the  grass 
was  a  great  variety  of  strange  flowers.  I  had  nothing  else 
to  do,  and  so,  gathering  a  handful,  I  sat  down  on  a  buffalo 
skull  to  study  them.  Although  the  offspring  of  a  wilderness, 
their  texture  was  frail  and  delicate,  and  their  colors  extremely 
rich ;  pure  white,  dark  blue,  and  a  transparent  crimson.  One 
traveling  in  this  country  seldom  has  leisure  to  think  of  any- 
thing but  the  stern  features  of  the  scenery  and  its  accompani- 
ments, or  the  practical  details  of  each  day's  journey.  Like 
them,  he  and  his  thoughts  grow  hard  and  rough.  But  now 
these  flowers  suddenly  awakened  a  train  of  associations  as 
alien  to  the  rude  scene  around  me  as  they  were  themselves; 
and  for  the  moment  my  thoughts  went  back  to  New  England. 
A  throng  of  fair  and  well-remembered  faces  rose,  vividly  as 
life,  before  me.  "There  are  good  things,"  thought  I,  "in  the 


HO  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

savage  life,  but  what  can  it  offer  to  replace  those  powerful 
and  ennobling  influences  that  can  reach  unimpaired  over  more 
than  three  thousand  miles  of  mountains,  forests,  and  deserts?" 

Before  sunrise  on  the  next  morning  our  tent  was  down ; 
we  harnessed  our  best  horses  to  the  cart  and  left  the  camp. 
But  first  we  shook  hands  with  our  friends  the  emigrants, 
who  sincerely  wished  us  a  safe  journey,  though  some  others 
of  the  party  might  easily  have  been  consoled  had  we  encoun- 
tered an  Indian  war  party  on  the  way.  The  captain  and 
his  brother  were  standing  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  wrapped  in 
their  plaids,  like  spirits  of  the  mist,  keeping  an  anxious  eye 
on  the  band  of  horses  below.  We  waved  adieu  to  them 
as  we  rode  off  the  ground.  The  captain  replied  with  a 
salutation  of  the  utmost  dignity,  which  Jack  tried  to  imi- 
tate; but  being  little  practiced  in  the  gestures  of  polite 
society,  his  effort  was  not  a  very  successful  one. 

In  five  minutes  we  had  gained  the  foot  of  the  hills,  but 
here  we  came  to  a  stop.  Old  Hendrick  was  in  the  shafts, 
and  being  the  very  incarnation  of  perverse  and  brutish 
obstinacy,  he  utterly  refused  to  move.  Deslauriers  lashed 
and  swore  till  he  was  tired,  but  Hendrick  stood  like  a  rock, 
grumbling  to  himself  and  looking  askance  at  his  enemy, 
until  he  saw  a  favorable  opportunity  to  take  his  revenge, 
when  he  struck  out  under  the  shaft  with  such  cool  malig- 
nity of  intention  that  Deslauriers  only  escaped  the  blow  by 
a  sudden  skip  into  the  air,  such  as  no  one  but  a  Frenchman 
could  achieve.  Shaw  and  he  then  joined  forces,  and  lashed 
on  both  sides  at  once.  The  brute  stood  still  for  a  while 
till  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  when  all  at  once  he  began 
to  kick  and  plunge  till  he  threatened  the  utter  demolition 
of  the  cart  and  harness.  We  glanced  back  at  the  camp, 
which  was  in  full  sight.  Our  companions,  inspired  by 
emulation,  were  leveling  their  tents  and  driving  in  their 
cattle  and  horses. 

"Take  the  horse  out,"  said  I. 


I 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE  111 


I  took  the  saddle  from  Pontiac  and  put  it  upon  Hen- 
drick;  the  former  was  harnessed  to  the  cart  in  an  instant. 
" Avance  doncf"1  cried  Deslauriers.  Pontiac  strode  up  the 
hill,  twitching  the  little  cart  after  him  as  if  it  were  a 
feather's  weight ;  and  though,  as  we  gained  the  top,  we  saw 
the  wagons  of  our  deserted  comrades  just  getting  into  mo- 
tion, we  had  little  fear  that  they  could  overtake  us.  Leav- 
ing the  trail,  we  struck  directly  across  the  country,  and  took 
the  shortest  cut  to  reach  the  main  stream  of  the  Platte.  A 
deep  ravine  suddenly  intercepted  us.  We  skirted  its  sides 
until  we  found  them  less  abrupt,  and  then  plunged  through 
the  best  way  we  could.  Passing  behind  the  sandy  ravines 
called  "Ash  Hollow,m  we  stopped  for  a  short  nooning  at 
the  side  of  a  pool  of  rain-water;  but  soon  resumed  our  jour- 
ney, and  some  hours  before  sunset  were  descending  the 
ravines  and  gorges  opening  downward  upon  the  Platte  to  the 
west  of  Ash  Hollow.  Our  horses  waded  to  the  fetlock  in 
sand;  the  sun  scorched  like  fire,  and  the  air  swarmed  with 
sand-flies  and  mosquitoes. 

At  last  we  gained  the  Platte.  Following  it  for  about 
five  miles,  we  saw,  just  as  the  sun  was  sinking,  a  great 
meadow,  dotted  with  hundreds  of  cattle,  and  beyond  them 
an  emigrant  encampment.  A  party  of  about  a  dozen  came 
out  to  meet  us,  looking  upon  us  at  first  with  cold  and  sus- 
picious faces.  Seeing  four  men,  different  in  appearance  and 
equipment  from  themselves,  emerging  from  the  hills,  they 
had  taken  us  for  the  van  of  the  much-dreaded  Mormons, 
whom  they  were  very  apprehensive  of  encountering.  We 
made  known  our  true  character,  and  then  they  greeted  us 
cordially.  They  expressed  much  surprise  that  so  small  a 
party  should  venture  to  traverse  that  region,  though  in  fact 
such  attempts  are  not  unfrequently  made  by  trappers  and 
Indian  traders.  We  rode  with  them  to  their  camp.  The 

!Get  up ! 

2On  the  left  bank  of  the  North  Fork  of  the  Platte,  near  the  present  Ogallala, 
Nebraska. 


112  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

wagons,  some  fifty  in  number,  with  here  and  there  a  tent 
intervening,  were  arranged  as  usual  in  a  circle;  in  the  area 
within  the  best  horses  were  picketed,  and  the  whole  circum- 
ference was  glowing  with  the  dusky  light  of  the  fires,  dis- 
playing the  forms  of  the  women  and  children  who  were 
crowded  around  them.  This  patriarchal  scene  was  curious 
and  striking  enough ;  but  we  made  our  escape  from  the  place 
with  all  possible  dispatch,  being  tormented  by  the  intrusive 
curiosity  of  the  men  who  crowded  around  us.  Yankee  curi- 
osity was  nothing  to  theirs.  They  demanded  our  names, 
where  we  came  from,  where  we  were  going,  and  what  was 
our  business.  The  last  query  was  particularly  embarrass- 
ing; since  traveling  in  that  country,  or  indeed  anywhere, 
from  any  other  motive  than  gain,  was  an  idea  of  which  they 
took  no  cognizance.  Yet  they  were  fine-looking  fellows, 
with  an  air  of  frankness,  generosity,  and  even  courtesy,  hav-  . 
ing  come  from  one  of  the  least  barbarous  of  the  frontier 
counties. 

We  passed  about  a  mile  beyond  them,  and  encamped. 
Being  too  few  in  number  to  stand  guard  without  excessive 
fatigue,  we  extinguished  our  fire,  lest  it  should  attract  the 
notice  of  wandering  Indians;  and  picketing  our  horses  close 
around  us,  slept  undisturbed  till  morning.  For  three  days 
we  traveled  without  interruption,  and  on  the  evening  of  the 
third  encamped  by  the  well-known  spring  on  Scott's  Bluff. 

Henry  Chatillon  and  I  rode  out  in  the  morning,  and 
descending  the  western  side  of  the  Bluff,  were  crossing  the 
plain  beyond.  Something  that  seemed  to  me  a  file  of  buffalo 
came  into  view,  descending  the  hills  several  miles  before 
us.  But  Henry  reined  in  his  horse,  and  keenly  peering 
across  the  prairie  with  a  better  and  more  practiced  eye,  soon 
discovered  its  real  nature.  "Indians!"  he  said.  "Old 
Smoke's  lodges,  I  b'lieve.  Come !  let  us  go !  Wah !  get  up, 
now,  Five  Hundred  Dollar!"  And  laying  on  the  lash  with 
good  will,  he  galloped  forward,  and  I  rode  by  his  side. 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE  113 

Not  long  after,  a  black  speck  became  visible  on  the  prairie, 
full  two  miles  off.  It  grew  larger  and  larger;  it  assumed 
i:he  form  of  a  man  and  horse ;  and  soon  we  could  discern  a 
naked  Indian,  careering  at  full  gallop  toward  us.  When 
within  a  furlong  he  wheeled  his  horse  in  a  wide  circle,  and 
made  him  describe  various  mystic  figures  upon  the  prairie; 
and  Henry  immediately  compelled  Five  Hundred  Dollar  to 
execute  similar  evolutions.  "It  is  Old  Smoke's  village," 
said  he,  interpreting  these  signals;  "didn't  I  say  so?" 

As  the  Indian  approached  we  stopped  to  wait  for  him, 
when  suddenly  he  vanished,  sinking,  as  it  were,  into  the 
earth.  He  had  come  upon  one  of  the  deep  ravines  that  every- 
where intersect  these  prairies.  In  an  instant  the  rough  head 
of  his  horse  stretched  upward  from  the  edge,  and  the  rider 
and  steed  came  scrambling  out,  and  bounded  up  to  us;  a 
sudden  jerk  of  the  rein  brought  the  wild  panting  horse  to  a 
full  stop.  Then  followed  the  needful  formality  of  shaking 
hands.  I  forget  our  visitor's  name.  He  was  a  young  fel- 
low, of  no  note  in  his  nation ;  yet  in  his  person  and  equip- 
ments he  was  a  good  specimen  of  a  Dakota  warrior  in 
his  ordinary  traveling  dress.  Like  most  of  his  people,  he 
was  nearly  six  feet  high;  lithely  and  gracefully,  yet  strongly 
proportioned;  and  with  a  skin  singularly  clear  and  delicate. 
He  wore  no  paint ;  his  head  was  bare ;  and  his  long  hair  was 
gathered  in  a  clump  behind,  to  the  top  of  which  was  attached 
transversely,  both  by  way  of  ornament  and  of  talisman,  the 
mystic  whistle,  made  of  the  wingbone  of  the  war  eagle,  and 
endowed  with  various  magic  virtues.  From  the  back  of  his 
head  descended  a  line  of  glittering  brass  plates,  tapering  from 
the  size  of  a  doubloon  to  that  of  a  half-dime,  a  cumbrous 
ornament,  in  high  vogue  among  the  Dakota,  and  for  which 
they  pay  the  traders  a  most  extravagant  price ;  his  chest  and 
arms  were  naked ;  the  buffalo  robe,  worn  over  them  w^hen  at 
rest,  had  fallen  about  his  waist  and  was  confined  there  by  a 
belt.  This,  with  the  gay  moccasins  on  his  feet,  completed 


114  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

his  attire.  For  arms  he  carried  a  quiver  of  dogskin  at  his 
back,  and  a  rude  but  powerful  bow  in  his  hand.  His  horse 
had  no  bridle;  a  cord  of  hair,  lashed  around  his  jaw,  served 
in  place  of  one.  The  saddle  was  of  most  singular  construc- 
tion ;  it  was  made  of  wood  covered  with  raw  hide,  and  both 
pommel  and  cantle  rose  perpendicularly  full  eighteen  inches, 
so  that  the  warrior  was  wedged  firmly  in  his  seat,  whence 
nothing  could  dislodge  him  but  the  bursting  of  the  girths. 

Advancing  with  our  new  companion,  we  found  more  of 
his  people  seated  in  a  circle  on  the  top  of  a  hill ;  while  a 
rude  procession  came  straggling  down  the  neighboring  hol- 
low, 'men,  women,  and  children,  with  horses  dragging  the 
lodge-poles  behind  them.  All  that  morning,  as  we  moved 
forward,  tall  savages  were  stalking  silently  about  us.  At 
noon  we  reached  H'orse  Creek;  and  as  we  waded  through 
the  shallow  water,  we  saw  a  wild  and  striking  scene.  The 
main  body  of  the  Indians  had  arrived  before  us.  On  the 
farther  bank  stood  a  large  and  strong  man,  nearly  naked, 
holding  a  white  horse  by  a  long  cord,  and  eyeing  us  as  we 
approached.  This  was  the  chief,  whom  Henry  called  "Old 
Smoke."  Just  behind  him  his  youngest  and  favorite  squaw 
sat  astride  of  a  fine  mule;  it  was  covered  with  caparisons  of 
whitened  skins,  garnished  with  blue  and  white  beads,  and 
fringed  with  little  ornaments  of  metal  that  tinkled  with 
every  movement  of  the  animal.  The  girl  had  a  light  clear 
complexion,  enlivened  by  a  spot  of  vermilion  on  each  cheek; 
she  smiled,  not  to  say  grinned,  upon  us,  showing  two  gleam- 
ing rows  of  white  .teeth.  In  her  hand  she  carried  the  tall 
lance  of  her  unchivalrous  lord,  fluttering  with  feathers;  his 
round  white  shield  hung  at  the  side  of  her  mule ;  and  his  pipe 
was  slung  at  her  back.  Her  dress  was  a  tunic  of  deerskin, 
made  beautifully  white  by  means  of  a  species  of  clay  found 
on  the  prairie,  and  ornamented  with  beads  arrayed  in  figures 
more  gay  than  tasteful,  and  with  long  fringes  at  all  the 
seams.  Not  far  from  the  chief  stood  a  group  of  stately 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE  115 

figures,  their  white  buffalo  robes  thrown  over  their  shoulders, 
gazing  coldly  upon  us;  and  in  the  rear,  for  several  acres, 
the  ground  was  covered  with  a  temporary  encampment; 
men,  women,  and  children  swarmed  like  bees;  hundreds  of 
dogs,  of  all  sizes  and  colors,  ran  restlessly  about;  and  close 
at  hand  the  wide  shallow  stream  was  alive  with  boys,  girls, 
and  young  squaws,  splashing,  screaming,  and  laughing  in 
the  water.  At  the  same  time  a  long  train  of  emigrant  wagons 
were  crossing  the  creek,  and,  dragging  on  in  their  slow,  heavy 
procession,  passed  the  encampment  of  the  people  whom  they 
and  their  descendants,  in  the  space  of  a  century,  are  to  sweep 
from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

The  encampment  itself  was  merely  a  temporary  one  dur- 
ing the  heat  of  the  day.  None  of  the  lodges  were  erected ; 
but  their  heavy  leather  coverings,  and  the  long  poles  used 
to  support  them,  were  scattered  everywhere  around  among 
weapons,  domestic  utensils,  and  the  rude  harness  of  mules 
and  horses.  The  squaws  of  each  lazy  warrior  had  made  him 
a  shelter  from  the  sun,  by  stretching  a  few  buffalo  robes  or 
the  corner  of  a  lodge-covering  upon  poles;  and  here  he  sat 
in  the  shade,  with  a  favorite  young  squaw,  perhaps,  at  his 
side,  glittering  with  all  imaginable  trinkets.  Before  him 
stood  the  insignia  of  his  rank  as  a  warrior,  his  white  shield 
of  bull-hide,  his  medicine  bag,  his  bow  and  quiver,  his  lance 
and  his  pipe,  raised  aloft  on  a  tripod  of  three  poles.  Except 
the  dogs,  the  most  active  and  noisy  tenants  of  the  camp  were 
the  old  women,  ugly  as  Macbeth's  witches,  with  their  hair 
streaming  loose  in  the  wind,  and  nothing  but  the  tattered 
fragment  of  an  old  buffalo  robe  to  hide  their  shriveled  wiry 
limbs.  The  day  of  their  favoritism  passed  two  generations 
ago ;  now  the  heaviest  labors  of  the  camp  devolved  upon  them ; 
they  were  to  harness  the  horses,  pitch  the  lodges,  dress  the 
buffalo  robes,  and  bring  in  meat  for  the  hunters.  With  the 
cracked  voices  of  these  hags,  the  clamor  of  dogs,  the  shout- 
ing and  laughing  of  children  and  girls,  and  the  listless  tran- 


116  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

quillity  of  the  warriors,  the  whole  scene  had  an  effect  too 
lively  and  picturesque  ever  to  be  forgotten. 

We  stopped  not  far  from  the  Indian  camp,  and  hav- 
ing invited  some  of  the  chiefs  and  warriors  to  dinner,  placed 
before  them  a  sumptuous  repast  of  biscuit  and  coffee. 
Squatted  in  a  half  circle  on  the  ground,  they  soon  disposed 
of  it.  As  we  rode  forward  on  the  afternoon  journey,  sev- 
eral of  our  late  guests  accompanied  us.  Among  the  rest 
was  a  huge  bloated  savage  of  more  than  three  hundred 
pounds'  weight,  christened  Le  Cochon,  in  consideration  of 
his  preposterous  dimensions  and  certain  corresponding  traits 
of  his  character.  "The  Hog"  bestrode  a  little  white  pony 
scarce  able  to  bear  up  under  the  enormous  burden,  though, 
by  way  of  keeping  up  the  necessary  stimulus,  the  rider  kept 
both  feet  in  constant  motion,  playing  alternately  against  his 
ribs.  The  old  man  was  not  a  chief;  he  never  had  ambition 
enough  to  be.come  one;  he  was  not  a  warrior  nor  a  hunter, 
for  he  was  too  fat  and  lazy:  but  he  was  the  richest  man  in 
the  whole  village.  Riches  among  the  Dakotas  consist  in 
horses,  and  of  these  The  Hog  had  accumulated  more  than 
thirty.  He  had  already  ten  times  as  many  as  he  wanted, 
yet  still  his  appetite  for  horses  was  insatiable.  Trotting  up 
to  me  he  shook  me  by  the  hand,  and  gave  me  to  understand 
that  he  was  a  very  devoted  friend ;  and  then  he  began  a 
series  of  most  earnest  signs  and  gesticulations,  his  oily  counte- 
nance radiant  with  smiles,  and  his  little  eyes  peeping  out 
with  a  cunning  twinkle  from  between  the  masses  of  flesh 
that  almost  obscured  them.  Knowing  nothing  at  that  time 
of  the  sign  language  of  the  Indians,  I  could  only  guess  at 
his  meaning.  So  I  called  on  Henry  to  explain  it. 

The  Hog,  it  seems,  was  anxious  to  conclude '  a  matri- 
monial bargain.  He  said  he  had  a  very  pretty  daughter  in 
his  lodge,  whom  he  would  give  me  if  I  would  give  him 
my  horse.  These  flattering  overtures  I  chose  to  reject;  at 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE  117 

which  The  Hog,  still  laughing  with  undiminished  good 
humor,  gathered  his  robe  about  his  shoulders  and  rode  away. 

Where  we  encamped  that  night,  an  arm  of  the  Platte 
ran  between  high  bluffs ;  it  was  turbid  and  swift  as  here- 
tofore, but  trees  were  growing  on  its  crumbling  banks,  and 
there  was  a  nook  of  grass  between  the  water  and  the  hill. 
Just  before  entering  this  place,  we  saw  the  emigrants  encamp- 
ing at  two  or  three  miles'  distance  on  the  right;  while  the 
whole  Indian  rabble  were  pouring  down  the  neighboring  hill 
in  hope  of  the  same  sort  of  entertainment  which  they  had 
experienced  from  us.  In  the  savage  landscape  before  our 
camp,  nothing  but  the  rushing  of  the  Platte  broke  the  silence. 
Through  the  ragged  boughs  of  the  trees,  dilapidated  and  half 
dead,  we  saw  the  sun  setting  in  crimson  behind  the  peaks 
of  the  Black  Hills;  the  restless  bosom  of  the  river  was  suf- 
fused with  red,  our  white  tent  was  tinged  with  it,  and  the 
sterile  bluffs,  up  to  the  rocks  that  crowned  them,  partook 
of  the  same  fiery  hue.  It  soon  passed  away;  no  light  remained 
but  that  from  our  fire,  blazing  high  among  the  dusky  trees 
and  bushes.  We  lay  around  it  wrapped  in  our  blankets, 
smoking  and  conversing  until  a  late  hour,  and  then  with- 
drew to  our  tent. 

We  crossed  a  sun-scorched  plain  on  the  next  morning, 
the  line  of  old  cotton-wood  trees  that  fringed  the  bank  of 
the  Platte  forming  its  extreme  verge.  Nestled  apparently 
close  beneath  them,  we  could  discern  in  the  distance  some- 
thing like  a  building.  As  we  came  nearer,  it  assumed  form 
and  dimensions,  and  proved  to  be  a  rough  structure  of  logs. 
It  was  a  little  trading  fort  belonging  to  two  private  traders, 
and  originally  intended,  like  all  the  forts  of  the  country,  to 
form  a  hollow  square,  with  rooms  for  lodging  and  storage 
opening  upon  the  area  within.  Only  two  sides  of  it  had 
been  completed ;  the  place  was  now  as  ill-fitted  for  the  pur- 
poses of  defense  as  any  of  those  little  log-houses  which,  upon 
our  constantly  shifting  frontier,  have  been  so  often  success- 


H8  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

fully  maintained  against  overwhelming  odds  of  Indians. 
Two  lodges  were  pitched  close  to  the  fort;  the  sun  beat 
scorching  upon  the  logs;  no  living  thing  was  stirring  except 
one  old  squaw,  who  thrust  her  round  head  from  the  open- 
ing of  the  nearest  lodge,  and  three  or  four  stout  young  pups, 
who  were  peeping  with  looks  of  eager  inquiry  from  under 
the  covering.  In  a  moment  a  door  opened,  and  a  little 
swarthy  black-eyed  Frenchman  came  out.  His  dress  was 
rather  singular:  his  black  curling  hair  was  parted  in  the 
middle  of  his  head,  and  fell  below  his  shoulders;  he  wore  a 
tight  frock  of  smoked  deerskin,  very  gayly  ornamented  with 
figures  worked  in  dyed  porcupine  quills.  His  moccasins  and 
leggings  were  also  gaudily  adorned  in  the  same  manner ;  and 
the  latter  had  in  addition  a  line  of  long  fringes  reaching 
down  the  seams.  The  small  frame  of  Richard,  for  by  this 
name  Henry  made  him  known  to  us,  was  in  the  highest 
degree  athletic  and  vigorous.  There  was  no  superfluity,  and 
indeed  there  seldom  is  among  the  active  white  men  of  this 
country,  but  every  limb  was  compact  and  hard ;  every  sinew 
had  its  full  tone  and  elasticity,  and  the  whole  man  wore  an 
air  of  mingled  hardihood  and  buoyancy. 

Richard  committed  our  horses  to  a  Navajo  slave,1  a  mean 
looking  fellow  taken  prisoner  on  the  Mexican  frontier;  and, 
relieving  us  of  our  rifles  with  ready  politeness,  led  the  way 
into  the  principal  apartment  of  his  establishment.  This  was 
a  room  ten  feet  square.  The  walls  and  floor  were  of  black 
mud,  and  the  roof  of  rough  timber;  there  was  a  huge  fire- 
place made  of  four  flat  rocks  picked  up  on  the  prairie.  An 
Indian  bow  and  otter-skin  quiver,  several  gaudy  articles  of 
Rocky  Mountain  finery,  an  Indian  medicine  bag,  and  a  pipe 
and  tobacco  pouch  garnished  the  walls,  and  rifles  rested  in  a. 
corner.  There  was  no  furniture  except  a  sort  of  rough  settle 
covered  with  buffalo  robes,  upon  which  lolled  a  tall  hali- 
breed,  with  his  hair  glued  in  masses  upon  each  temple,  and 

1Indian  slavery  was  uncommon  among  either  trappers  or  Indians. 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE  119 

;aturated  with  vermilion.     Two  or  three  more  "mountain 
lien"  sat  crbss-legged  on  the  floor.     Their  attire  was  not 
anlike  that  of  Richard  himself;  but  the  most  striking  figure 
>f  the  group  was  a  naked   Indian   boy  of  sixteen,   with   a 
landsome  face  and  light,  active  propprtions,  who  sat  in  an 
'asy  posture  in  the  corner  near  the  door.     Not  one  of  his 
imbs  moved  the  breadth  of  a  hair ;  his  eye  was  fixed  immov- 
ably, not  on  any  person  present,  but,  as  it  appeared,  on  the 
projecting  corner  of  the  fireplace  opposite  to  him. 

On  these  prairies  the  custom  of  smoking  with  friends  is 
seldom  omitted,  whether  among  Indians  or  whites.  The 
pipe,  therefore,  was  taken  from  the  wall,  and  its  great  red 
bowl  crammed  with  the  tobacco  and  shongsasha*  mixed  in 
suitable  proportions.  Then  it  passed  round  the  circle,  each 
man  inhaling  a  few  whiffs  and  handing  it  to  his  neighbor. 
Having  spent  half  an  hour  here,  we  took  our  leave;  first 
inviting  our  new  friends  to  drink  a  cup  of  coffee  with  us 
at  our  camp,  a  mile  farther  up  the  river.  By  this  time, 
as  the  reader  may  conceive,  we  had  grown  rather  shabby; 
our  clothes  had  burst  into  rags  and  tatters ;  and  what  was 
worse,  we  had  very  little  means  of  renovation.  Fort  Lara- 
mie  was  but  seven  miles  before  us.  Being  totally  averse  to 
appearing  in  such  plight  among  any  society  that  could  boast 
an  approximation  to  the  civilized,  we  soon  stopped  by  the 
river  to  make  our  toilet  in  the  best  way  we  could.  We 
hung  up  small  looking-glasses  against  the  trees  and  shaved, 
an  operation  neglected  for  six  weeks ;  we  performed  our 
ablutions  in  the  Platte,  though  the  utility  of  such  a  pro- 
ceeding was  questionable,  the  water  looking  exactly  like  a 
cup  of  chocolate,  and  the  banks  consisting  of  the  softest  and 
richest  yellow  mud,  so  that  we  were  obliged,  as  a  prelimi- 
nary, to  build  a  causeway  of  stout  branches  and  twigs.  Hav- 
ing also  put  on  radiant  moccasins,  procured  from  a  squaw 
Df  Richard's  establishment,  and  made  what  other  improve- 

JRed  willow  bark,  mixed  with  tobacco  for  smoking. 


120  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

ments  our  narrow  circumstances  allowed,  we  took  our  seats 
on  the  grass  with  a  feeling  of  greatly  increased  respectabil- 
ity, to  await  the  arrival  of  our  guests.  They  came ;  the 
banquet  was  concluded,  and  the  pipe  smoked.  Bidding 
them  adieu,  we  turned  our  horses'  heads  toward  the  fort. 

An  hour  elapsed.  The  barren  hills  closed  across  our 
front,  and  we  could  see  no  farther;  until  having  surmounted 
them,  a  rapid  stream  appeared  at  the  foot  of  the  descent, 
running  into  the  Platte ;  beyond  was  a  green  meadow,  dotted 
with  bushes,  and  in  the  midst  of  these,  at  the  point  where 
the  two  rivers  joined,  were  the  low  clay  walls  of  a  fort. 
This  was  not  Fort  Laramie,  but  another  post  of  less  recent 
date,  which  having  sunk  before  its  successful  competitor, 
was  now  deserted  and  ruinous.  A  moment  after  the  hills, 
seeming  to  draw  apart  as  we  advanced,  disclosed  Fort  Lara- 
mie itself,1  its  high  bastions  and  perpendicular  walls  of  clay 
crowning  an  eminence  on  the  left  beyond  the  stream,  while 
behind  stretched  a  line  of  arid  and  desolate  ridges,  and 
behind  these  again,  towering  aloft  seven  thousand  feet,  arose 
the  grim  Black  Hills. 

We  tried  to  ford  Laramie  Creek  at  a  point  nearly  oppo- 
site the  fort,  but  the  stream,  swollen  with  the  rains  in  the 
mountains,  was  too  rapid.  We  passed  up  along  its  bank 
to  find  a  better  crossing  place.  Men  gathered  on  the  wall 
to  look  at  us.  "There's  Bordeaux!"  called  Henry,  his  face 
brightening  as  he  recognized  his  acquaintance ;  "him  there 
with  the  spyglass;  and  there's  old  Vaskiss,  and  Tucker,  and 
May;  and,  by  George!  there's  Cimoneau!"  This  Cimoneau 
was  Henry's  fast  friend,  and  the  only  man  in  the  country 
who  could  rival  him  in  hunting. 

We  soon  found  a  ford.     Henry  led  the  way,  the  pony 

iport  Laramie,  at  the  junction  of  Laramie  River  and  the  North  Platte,  in 
the  present  State  of  Wyoming,  was  built  in  1834  for  the  American  Fur  Company, 
but  the  next  year  was  sold  to  members  of  the  company,  who  conducted  it  as  a 
private  enterprise  until  1849.  See  Inman's  Great  Salt  Lake  Trail,  98-101. 


TAKING  FRENCH  LEAVE 


121 


approaching  the  bank  with  a  countenance  of  cool  indiffer- 
ence, bracing  his  feet  and  sliding  into  the  stream  with  the 
most  unmoved  composure: 


I 


At  the  first  plunge  the  horse  sunk  low, 
And  the  water  broke  o'er  the  saddletbow.1 


We  followed;  the  water  boiled  against  our  saddles,  but 
our  horses  bore  us  easily  through.  The  unfortunate  little 
mules  came  near  going  down  with  the  current,  cart  and  all ; 
and  we  watched  them  with  some  solicitude  scrambling  over 
the  loose  round  stones  at  the  bottom,  and  bracing  stoutly 
against  the  stream.  All  landed  safely  at  last;  we  crossed 
a  little  plain,  descended  a  hollow,  and  riding  up  a  steep  bank 
found  ourselves  before  the  gateway  of  Fort  Laramie,  under 
the  impending  blockhouse  erected  above  it  to  defend  the 
entrance. 

JScott,  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  Canto  I.  Stanza  29. 


CHAPTER    IX 

SCENES    AT    FORT    LARAMIE 

Looking  back,  after  the  expiration  of  a  year,  upon  Fort 
Laramie  and  its  inmates,  they  seem  less  like  a  reality  than 
like  some  fanciful  picture  of  the  olden  time,  so  different 
was  the  scene  from  any  which  this  tamer  side  of  the  world 
can  present.  Tall  Indians,  enveloped  in  their  white  buf- 
falo robes,  were  striding  across  the  area  or  reclining  at  full 
length  on  the  low  roofs  of  the  buildings  which  inclosed  it. 
Numerous  squaws,  gayly  bedizened,  sat  grouped  in  front  of 
the  apartments  they  occupied;  their  mongrel  offspring,  rest- 
less and  vociferous,  rambled  in  every  direction  through  the 
fort;  and  the  trappers,  traders,  and  engages1  of  the  estab- 
lishment were  busy  at  their  labor  or  their  amusements. 

We  were  met  at  the  gate,  but  by  no  means  cordially 
welcomed.  Indeed,  we  seemed  objects  of  some  distrust  and 
suspicion  until  Henry  Chatillon  explained  that  we  were  not 
traders,  and  we,  in  confirmation,  handed  to  the  bourgeois 
a  letter  of  introduction  from  his  principals.  He  took  it, 
turned  it  upside  down,  and  tried  hard  to  read  it;  but  his 
literary  attainments  not  being  adequate  to  the  task,  he 
applied  for  relief  to  the  clerk,  a  sleek,  smiling  Frenchman 
named  Montalon.  The  letter  read,  Bordeaux  (the  bour- 
geois) seemed  gradually  to  awaken  to  a  sense  of  what  was 
expected  of  him.  Though  not  deficient  in  hospitable  inten- 
tions, he  was  wholly  unaccustomed  to  act  as  master  of  cere- 
monies. Discarding  all  formalities  of  reception,  he  did  not 
honor  us  with  a  single  word,  but  walked  swiftly  across  the 
are*,  while  we  followed  in  some  admiration  to  a  railing  and 

1Ernploy6s. 

122 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  123 

a  flight  of  steps  opposite  the  entrance.  He  signed  to  us  that 
we  had  better  fasten  our  horses  to  the  railing;  then  he 
walked  up  the  steps,  tramped  along  a  rude  balcony,  and 
kicking  open  a  door  displayed  a  large  room,  rather  more 
elaborately  finished  than  a  barn.  For  furniture  it  had  a 
rough  bedstead,  but  no  bed;  two  chairs,  a  chest  of  drawers, 
a  tin  pail  to  hold  water,  and  a  board  to  cut  tobacco  upon. 
A  brass  crucifix  hung  on  the  wall,  and  close  at  hand  a 
recent  scalp,  with  hair  full  a  yard  long,  was  suspended  from 
a  nail.  x  I  shall  again  have  occasion  to  mention  this  dismal 
trophy,  its  history  being  connected  with  that  of  our  sub- 
sequent proceedings. 

This  apartment,  the  best  in  Fort  Laramie,  was  that 
usually  occupied  by  the  legitimate  bourgeois,  Papin ;  in  whose 
absence  the  command  devolved  upon  Bordeaux.  The  latter, 
a  stout,  bluff  little  fellow,  much  inflated  by  a  sense  of  his 
new  authority,  began  to  roar  for  buffalo  robes.  These 
being  brought  and  spread  upon  the  floor  formed  our  beds ; 
much  better  ones  than  we  had  of  late  been  accustomed  to. 
Our  arrangements  made,  we  stepped  out  to  the  balcony  to 
take  a  more  leisurely  survey  of  the  long-looked-for  haven  at 
which  we  had  arrived  at  last.  Beneath  us  was  the  square 
area  surrounded  by  little  rooms,  or  rather  cells,  which  opened 
upon  it.  These  were  devoted  to  various  purposes,  but  served 
chiefly  for  the  accommodation  of  the  men  employed  at  the 
fort,  or  of  the  equally  numerous  squaws.  .  .  .  Opposite  to 
us  rose  the  blockhouse  above  the  gateway;  it  was  adorned 
with  a  figure  which  even  now  haunts  my  memory — a  horse 
at  full  speed,  daubed  upon  the  boards  with  red  paint,  and 
exhibiting  a  degree  of  skill  which  might  rival  that  displayed 
by  the  Indians  in  executing  similar  designs  upon  their  robes 
and  lodges.  A  busy  scene  was  enacting  in  the  area.  The 
wagons  of  Vaskiss,  an  old  trader,  were  about  to  set  out  for 
a  remote  post  in  the  mountains,  and  the  Canadians  were 
going  through  their  preparations  with  all  possible  bustle, 


124  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

while  here  and  there  an  Indian  stood  looking  on  with  imper- 
turbable gravity.  ' 

Fort  Laramie  is  one  of  the  posts  established  by  the  Ameri- 
can Fur  Company,  who  well-nigh  monopolize  the  Indian 
trade  of  this  whole  region.  Here  their  officials  rule  with  an 
absolute  sway;  the  arm  of  the  United  States  has  little  force, 
for  when  we  were  there,  the  extreme  outposts  of  her  troops 
were  about  seven  hundred  miles  to  the  eastward.  The  little 
fort  is  built  of  bricks  dried  in  the  sun,  and  externally  is  of 
an  oblong  form,  with  bastions  of  clay,  in  the  form  of  ordi- 
nary blockhouses,  at  two  of  the  corners.  The  walls  are 
about  fifteen  feet  high,  and  surmounted  by  a  slender  palisade. 
The  roofs  of  the  apartments  within,  which  are  built  close 
against  the  walls,  serve  the  purpose  of  a  banquette.  Within, 
the  fort  is  divided  by  a  partition ;  on  one  side  is  the  square 
area  surrounded  by  the  storerooms,  offices,  and  apartments  of 
the  inmates ;  on  the  other  is  the  corral,  a  narrow  place  encom- 
passed by  the  high  clay  walls,  where  at  night,  or  in  presence 
of  dangerous  Indians,  the  horses  and  mules  of  the  fort  are 
crowded  for  safe-keeping.  The  main  entrance  has  two  gates, 
with  an  arched  passage  intervening.  A  little  square  window, 
quite  high  above  the  ground,  opens  laterally  from  an  adjoin- 
ing chamber  into  this  passage ;  so  that  when  the  inner  gate  is 
closed  and  barred,  a  person  without  may  still  hold  com- 
munication with  those  within  through  this  narrow  aperture. 
This  obviates  the  necessity  of  admitting  suspicious  Indians, 
for  purposes  of  trading,  into  the  body  of  the  fort;  for  when 
danger  is  apprehended,  the  inner  gate  is  shut  fast,  and  all 
traffic  is  carried  on  by  means  of  the  little  window.  This 
precaution,  though  highly  necessary  at  some  of  the  Company's 
posts,  is  now  seldom  resorted  to  at  Fort  Laramie;  where, 
though  men  are  frequently  killed  in  its  neighborhood,  no 
apprehensions  are  now  entertained  of  any  general  designs  of 
hostility  from  the  Indians. 

We  did  not  long  enjoy  our  new  quarters  undisturbed. 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  125 

The  door  was  silently  pushed  open,  and  two  eyeballs  and  a 
visage  as  black  as  night  looked  in  upon  us;  then  a  red  arm 
and  shoulder  intruded  themselves,  and  a  tall  Indian,  gliding 
in,  shook  us  by  the  hand,  grunted  his  salutation,  and  sat  down 
on  the  floor.  Others  followed,  with  faces  of  the  natural  hue ; 
and  letting  fall  their  heavy  robes  from  their  shoulders,  they 
took  their  seats,  quite  at  ease,  in  a  semi-circle  before  us.  The 
pipe  was  now  to  be  lighted  and  passed  round  from  one  to 
another ;  and  this  was  the  only  entertainment  that  at  present 
they  expected  from  us.  These  visitors  were  fathers,  brothers, 
or  other  relatives  of  the  squaws  in  the  fort,  where  they  were 
permitted  to  remain,  loitering  about  in  perfect  idleness.  All 
those  who  smoked  with  us  were  men  of  standing  and  repute. 
Two  or  three  others  dropped  in  also;  young  fellows  who 
neither  by  their  years  nor  their  exploits  were  entitled  to  rank 
with  the  old  men  and  warriors,  and  who,  abashed  in  the  pres- 
ence of  their  superiors,  stood  aloof,  never  withdrawing  their 
eyes  from  us.  Their  cheeks  were  adorned  with  vermilion, 
their  ears  with  pendants  of  shell,  and  their  necks  with  beads. 
Never  yet  having  signalized  themselves  as  hunters,  or  per- 
formed the  honorable  exploit  of  killing  a  man,  they  were 
held  in  slight  esteem,  and  were  diffident  and  bashful  in  pro- 
portion. Certain  formidable  inconveniences  attended  this 
influx  of  visitors.  They  were  bent  on  inspecting  everything 
in  the  room ;  our  equipments  and  our  dress  alike  underwent 
their  scrutiny;  for  though  the  contrary  has  been  carelessly 
asserted,  few  beings  have  more  curiosity  than  Indians  in 
regard  to  subjects  within  their  ordinary  range  of  thought. 
As  to  other  matters,  indeed,  they  seem  utterly  indifferent. 
They  will  not  trouble  themselves  to  inquire  into  what  they 
cannot  comprehend,  but  are  quite  contented  to  place  their 
hands  over  their  mouths  in  token  of  wonder,  and  exclaim 
that  it  is  "great  medicine."  With  this  comprehensive  solu- 
tion, an  Indian  never  is  at  a  loss.  He  never  launches  forth 
into  speculation  and  conjecture;  his  reason  moves  in  its 


*26  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

beaten  track.  His  soul  is  dormant;  and  no  exertions  of  the 
missionaries,  Jesuit  or  Puritan,  of  the  Old  World  or  of  the 
New,  have  as  yet  .availed  to  rouse  it. 

As  we  were  looking  at  sunset  from  the  wall,  upon  the 
wild  and  desolate  plains  that  surround  the  fort,  we  observed 
a  cluster  of  strange  objects,  like  scaffolds,  rising  in  the  dis- 
tance against  the  red  western  sky.  They  bore  aloft  some 
singular  looking  burdens,  and  at  their  foot  glimmered  some- 
thing white  like  bones.  This  was  the  place  of  sepulture  of 
some  Dakota  chiefs,  whose  remains  their  people  are  fond  of 
placing  in  the  vicinity  of  the  fort,  in  the  hope  that  they  may 
thus  be  protected  from  violation  at  the  hands  of  their  ene- 
mies. Yet  it  has  happened  more  than  once,  and  quite 
recently,  that  war  parties  of  the  Crow  Indians,  ranging 
through  the  country,  have  thrown  the  bodies  from  the  scaf- 
folds and  broken  them  to  pieces  amid  the  yells  of  the  Dakota, 
who  remained  pent  up  in  the  fort,  too  few  to  defend  the 
honored  relics  from  insult.  The  white  objects  upon  the 
ground  were  buffalo  skulls,  arranged  in  the  mystic  circle 
commonly  seen  at  Indian  places  of  sepulture  upon  the 
prairie. 

We  soon  discovered,  in  the  twilight,  a  band  of  fifty  or 
sixty  horses  approaching  the  fort.  These  were  the  animals 
belonging  to  the  establishment,  who  having  been  sent  out 
to  feed,  under  the  care  of  armed  guards,  in  the  meadows 
below,  were  now  being  driven  into  the  corral  for  the  night. 
A  little  gate  opened  into  this  inclosure;  by  the  side  of  it 
stood  one  of  the  guards,  an  old  Canadian,  with  gray  bushy 
eyebrows,  and  a  dragoon  pistol  stuck  into  his  belt;  while 
his  comrade,  mounted  on  horseback,  his  rifle  laid  across  the 
saddle  in  front  of  him,  and  his  long  hair  blowing  before 
his  swarthy  face,  rode  at  the  rear  of  the  disorderly  troop, 
urging  them  up  the  ascent.  In  a  moment  the  narrow  corral 
was  thronged  with  the  half-wild  horses,  kicking,  biting,  and 
crowding  restlessly  together. 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  127 

The  discordant  jingling  of  a  bell,  rung  by  a  Canadian 
in  the  area,  summoned  us  to  supper.  This  sumptuous  repast 
was  served  on  a  rough  table  in  one  of  the  lower  apartments 
of  the  fort,  and  consisted  of  cakes  of  bread  and  dried  buffalo 
meat — an  excellent  thing  for  strengthening  the  teeth.  At 
this  meal  were  seated  the  bourgeois  and  superior  dignitaries 
of  the  establishment,  among  whom  Henry  Chatillon  was 
worthily  included.  No  sooner  was  it  finished,  than  the  table 
was  spread  a  second  time  (the  luxury  of  bread  being  now, 
however,  omitted),  for  the  benefit  of  certain  hunters  and 
trappers  of  an  inferior  standing;  while  the  ordinary  Cana- 
dian engages  were  regaled  on  dried  meat  in  one  of  their 
lodging  rooms.  By  way  of  illustrating  the  domestic  econ- 
omy of  Fort  Laramie,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  introduce  in 
this  place  a  story  current  among  the  men  when  we  were 
there. 

There  was  an  old  man  named  Pierre,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  bring  the  meat  from  the  storeroom  for  the  men.  Old 
Pierre,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  used  to  select  the  fattest 
and  the  best  pieces  for  his  companions.  This  did  not  long 
escape  the  keen-eyed  bourgeois,  who  was  greatly  disturbed 
at  such  improvidence,  and  cast  about  for  some  means  to 
stop  it.  At  last  he  hit  on  a  plan  that  exactly  suited  him. 
At  the  side  of  the  meat-room,  and  separated  from  it  by  a  clay 
partition,  was  another  apartment  used  for  the  storage  of 
furs.  It  had  no  other  communication  with  the  fort,  except 
through  a  square  hole  in  the  partition;  and  of  course  it  was 
perfectly  dark.  One  evening  the  bourgeois,  watching  for  a 
moment  when  no  one  observed  him,  dodged  into  the  meat- 
room,  clambered  through  the  hole,  and  ensconced  himself 
among  the  furs  and  buffalo  robes.  Soon  after,  old  Pierre 
came  in  with  his  lantern ;  and,  muttering  to  himself,  began 
to  pull  over  the  bales  of  meat  and  select  the  best  pieces,  as 
usual.  But  suddenly  a  hollow  and  sepulchral  voice  pro- 
ceeded from  the  inner  apartment:  "Pierre!  Pierre!  Let 


128  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

that  fat  meat  alone!  Take  nothing  but  lean!"  Pierre 
dropped  his  lantern  and  bolted  out  into  the  fort,  screaming, 
in  an  agony  of  terror,  that  the  devil  was  in  the  storeroom; 
but  tripping  on  the  threshold,  he  pitched  over  upon  the  gravel 
and  lay  senseless,  stunned  by  the  fall.  The  Canadians  ran 
out  to  the  rescue.  Some  lifted  the  unlucky  Pierre;  and 
others,  making  an  extempore  crucifix  out  of  two  sticks,  were 
proceeding  to  attack  the  devil  in  his  stronghold,  when  the 
bourgeois,  with  a  crest-fallen  countenance,  appeared  at  the 
door.  To  add  to  the  bourgeois's  mortification,  he  was 
obliged  to  explain  the  whole  strategem  to  Pierre,  in  order  to 
bring  the  latter  to  his  senses. 

We  were  sitting,  on  the  following  morning,  in  the  pas- 
sage-way between  the  gates,  conversing  with  the  traders 
Vaskiss  and  May.  These  two  men,  together  with  our  sleek 
friend,  the  clerk  Montalon,  were,  I  believe,  the  only  persons 
then  in  the  fort  who  could  read  and  write.  May  wras  tell- 
ing a  curious  story  about  the  traveler  Catlin,1  when  an  ugly, 
diminutive  Indian,  wretchedly  mounted,  came  up  at  a  gal- 
lop and  rode  past  us  into  the  fort.  On  being  questioned, 
he  said  that  Smoke's  village  was  close  at  hand.  Accordingly 
only  a  few  minutes  elapsed  before  the  hills  beyond  the  river 
were  covered  with  a  disorderly  swarm  of  savages,  on  horse- 
back and  on  foot.  May  finished  his  story;  and  by  that  time 
the  whole  array  had  descended  to  Laramie  Creek,  and  com- 
menced crossing  it  in  a  mass.  I  walked  down  to  the  bank. 
The  stream  is  wide,  and  was  then  between  three  and  four 
feet  deep,  with  a  very  swift  current.  For  several  rods  the 
water  was  alive  with  dogs,  horses,  and  Indians.  The  long 
poles  used  in  erecting  the  lodges  are  carried  by  the  horses, 
being  fastened  by  the  heavier  end,  two  or  three  on  each  side, 
to  a  rude  sort  of  pack  saddle,  while  the  other  end  drags  on 
the  ground.  About  a  foot  behind  the  horse,  a  kind  of  large 

1George  Catlin,  b.  1796,  d.  1872,  author  of  several  works  descriptive  of  In- 
dian manners  and  customs,  spent  eight  years  among  the  Indians,  visiting  forty- 
eight  tribes. 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  129 

ket  or  pannier  is  suspended  between  the  poles,  and  firmly 
ihed  in  its  place.  On  the  back  of  the  horse  are.  piled 
ious  articles  of  luggage;  the  basket  also  is  well  filled  with 
ornestic  utensils,  or,  quite  as  often,  with  a  litter  of  puppies, 
brood  of  small  children,  or  a  superannuated  old  man. 
umbers  of  these  curious  vehicles,  called,  in  the  bastard  Ian- 
age  of  the  country,  travaux?  were  now  splashing  together 
rough  the  stream.  Among  them  swam  countless  dogs, 
ften  burdened  with  miniature  travaux;  and  dashing  for- 
rard  on  horseback  through  the  throng  came  the  superbly 
'ormed  warriors,  the  slender  figure  of  some  lynx-eyed  boy 
clinging  fast  behind  them.  The  women  sat  perched  on  the 
pack  saddles,  adding  not  a  little  to  the  load  of  the  already 
overburdened  horses.  The  confusion  was  prodigious.  The 
dogs  yelled  and  howled  in  chorus;  the  puppies  in  the 
-avaux  set  up  a  dismal  whine  as  the  water  invaded  their 
fortable  retreat;  the  little  black-eyed  children,  from  one 
year  of  age  upward,  clung  fast  with  both  hands  to  the  edge 
of  their  basket,  and  looked  over  in  alarm  at  the  water  rush- 
ing so  near  them,  sputtering  and  making  wry  mouths  as 
it  splashed  against  their  faces.  Some  of  the  dogs,  encum- 
bered by  their  load,  were  carried  down  by  the  current, 
yelping  piteously;  and  the  old  squaws  would  rush  into  the 
water,  seize  their  favorites  by  the  neck,  and  drag  them  out. 
As  each  horse  gained  the  bank,  he  scrambled  up  as  he 
could.  Stray  horses  and  colts  came  among  the  rest,  often 
breaking  away  at  full  speed  through  the  crowd,  followed  by 
the  old  hags,  screaming  after  their  fashion  on  all  occasions 
of  excitement.  Buxom  young  squaws,  blooming  in  all  the 
charms  of  vermilion,  stood  here  and  there  on  the  bank, 
holding  aloft  their  master's  lance  as  a  signal  to  collect  the 
scattered  portions  of  his  household.  In  a  few  moments 
the  crowd  melted  away,  each  family,  with  its  horses  and 
equipage,  filing  off  to  the  plain  at  the  rear  of  the  fort ;  and 

*A  corruption  of  traineaux. 


130  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

here,  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  arose  sixty  or  seventy 
of  their  tapering  lodges.  Their  horses  were  feeding  by 
hundreds  over  the  surrounding  prairie,  and  their  dogs  were 
roaming  everywhere.  The  fort  was  full  of  men,  and  the 
children  were  whooping  and  yelling  incessantly  under  the 
walls. 

These  newcomers  were  scarcely  arrived,  when  Bordeaux 
was  running  across  the  fort,  shouting  to  his  squaw  to  bring 
him  his  spy-glass.  The  obedient  Marie,  the  very  model  of 
a  squaw,  produced  the  instrument,  and  Bordeaux  hurried 
with  it  up  to  the  wall.  Pointing  it  to  the  eastward,  he 
exclaimed,  with  an  oath,  that  the  families  were  coming. 
But  a  few  moments  elapsed  before  the  heavy  caravan  of 
the  emigrant  wagons  could  be  seen,  steadily  advancing  from 
the  hills.  They  gained  the  river,  and  without  turning  or 
pausing  plunged  in;  they  passed  through,  and  slowly  as- 
cending the  opposite  bank,  kept  directly  on  their  way  past 
the  fort  and  the  Indian  village,  until,  gaining  a  spot  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  they  wheeled  into  a  circle.  For 
some  time  our  tranquillity  was  undisturbed.  The  emigrants 
were  preparing  their  encampment;  but  no  sooner  was  this 
accomplished  than  Fort  Laramie  was  fairly  taken  by  storm. 
A  crowd  of  broad-brimmed  hats,  thin  visages,  and  staring 
eyes  appeared  suddenly  at  the  gate.  Tall  awkward  men  in 
brown  homespun,  women  with  cadaverous  faces  and  long  lank 
figures,  came  thronging  in  together,  and,  as  if  inspired  by 
the  very  demon  of  curiosity,  ransacked  every  nook  and  corner 
of  the  fort.  Dismayed  at  this  invasion,  we  withdrew  in  all 
speed  to  our  chamber,  vainly  hoping  that  it  might  prove  an 
inviolable  sanctuary.  The  emigrants  prosecuted  their  in- 
vestigations with  untiring  vigor.  They  penetrated  the  rooms, 
or  rather  dens,  inhabited  by  the  astonished  squaws.  They 
explored  the  apartments  of  the  men,  and  even  that  of  Marie 
and  the  bourgeois.  At  last  a  numerous  deputation  appeared 
at  our  door,  but  were  immediately  expelled.  Being  totally 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  131 

devoid  of  any  sense  of  delicacy  or  propriety,   they  seemed 
resolved  to  search  every  mystery  to  the  bottom. 

Having  at  length  satisfied  their  curiosity,  they  next  pro- 
ceeded to  business.  The  men  occupied  themselves  in  pro- 
curing supplies  for  their  onward  journey,  either  buying  them 
with  money  or  giving  in  exchange  superfluous  articles  of 
their  own. 

The  emigrants  felt  a  violent  prejudice  against  the  French 
Indians,  as  they  called  the  trappers  and  traders.  They 
thought,  and  with  some  justice,  that  these  men  bore  them 
no  good  will.  Many  of  them  were  firmly  persuaded  that 
the  French  were  instigating  the  Indians  to  attack  and  cut 
them  off.  On  visiting  the  encampment,  we  were  at  once 
struck  with  the  extraordinary  perplexity  and  indecision  that 
prevailed  among  the  emigrants.  They  seemed  like  men 
totally  out  of  their  elements  bewildered  and  amazed,  like 
a  troop  of  school-boys  lost  in  the  woods.  It  was  impossible 
to  be  long  among  them  without  being  conscious  of  the  high 
and  bold  spirit  with  which  most  of  them  were  animated.  But 
the  forest  is  the  home  of  the  backwoodsman.  On  the  remote 
prairie  he  is  totally  at  a  loss.  He  differs  as  much  from  the 
genuine  "mountain  man,"  the  wild  prairie  hunter,  as  a  Cana- 
dian voyageur,  paddling  his  canoe  on  the  rapids  of  the ' 
Ottawa,1  differs  from  an  American  sailor  among  the  storms 
of  Cape  Horn.  Still,  my  companion  and  I  were  somewhat 
at  a  loss  to  account  for  this  perturbed  state  of  mind.  It 
could  not  be  cowardice;  these  men  were  of  the  same  stock 
with  the  volunteers  of  Monterey  and  Buena  Vista.  Yet,  for 
the  most  part,  they  were  the  rudest  and  most  ignorant  of 
the  frontier  population;  they  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the 
country  and  its  inhabitants;  they  had  already  experienced 
much  misfortune,  and  apprehended  more;  they  had  seen 

lFor  the  early  French  traders  and  fur-hunters,  the  Ottwa  River,  flowing  into 
the  St.  Lawrence  above  Montreal,  formed  the  most  direct  water  route  to  Lake 
Huron  and  Lake  Superior. 


132  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

nothing  of  mankind,  and  had  never  put  their  own  resources 
to  the  test. 

A  full  proportion  of  suspicion  fell  upon  us.  Being  stran- 
gers, we  were  looked  upon  as  enemies.  Having  occasion  for  a 
supply  of  lead  and  a  few  other  necessary  articles,  we  used 
to  go  over  to  the  emigrant  camps  to  obtain  them.  After 
some  hesitation,  some  dubious  glances,  and  fumbling  of  the 
hands  in  the  pockets,  the  terms  would  be  agreed  upon,  the 
price  tendered,  and  the  emigrant  would  go  off  to  bring  the 
article  in  question.  After  waiting  until  our  patience  gave 
out,  we  would  go  in  search  of  him,  and  find  him  seated  on 
the  tongue  of  his  wagon. 

"Well,  stranger,"  he  would  observe,  as  he  saw  us 
approach,  "I  reckon  I  won't  trade!" 

Some  friend  of  his  had  followed  him  from  the  scene  of 
the  bargain,  and  suggested  in  his  ear  that  clearly  we  meant 
to  cheat  him,  and  he  had  better  have  nothing  to  do  with  us. 

This  timorous  mood  of  the  emigrants  was  doubly  unfor- 
tunate, as  it  exposed  them  to  real  danger.  Assume,  in  the 
presence  of  Indians,  a  bold  bearing,  self-confident  yet  .vigi- 
lant, and  you  will  find  them  tolerably  safe  neighbors.  But 
your  safety  depends  on  the  respect  and  fear  you  are  able 
to  inspire.  If  you  betray  timidity  or  indecision,  you 
convert  them  from  that  moment  into  insidious  and  dan- 
gerous enemies.  The  Dakota  saw  clearly  enough  the  per- 
turbation of  the  emigrants,  and  instantly  availed  themselves 
of  it.  They  became  extremely  insolent  and  exacting  in  their 
demands.  It  has  become  an  established  custom  with  them  to 
go  to  the  camp  of  every  party,  as  it  arrives  in  succession  at 
the  fort,  and  demand  a  feast.  Smoke's  village  had  come 
with  this  express  design,  having  made  several  days'  journey 
with  no  other  object  than  that  of  enjoying  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  two  or  three  biscuits.  So  the  "feast"  was  demanded, 
and  the  emigrants  dared  not  refuse  it. 

One  evening,  about  sunset,  the  village  was  deserted.    We 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  133 

met  old  men,  warriors,  squaws,  and  children  in  gay  attire, 
trooping  off  to  the  encampment  with  faces  of  anticipation ; 
and,  arriving  here,  they  seated  themselves  in  a  semicircle, 
Smoke  occupied  the  center,  with  his  warriors  on  either  hand ; 
the  young  men  and  boys  next  succeeded,  and  the  squaws  and 
children  formed  the  horns  of  the  crescent.  The  biscuit  and 
coffee  were  most  promptly  dispatched,  the  emigrants  staring 
open-mouthed  at  their  savage  guests.  With  each  new  emi- 
grant party  that  arrived  at  Fort  Laramie  this  scene  was 
renewed ;  and  every  day  the  Indians  grew  more  rapacious 
and  presumptuous.  One  evening  they  broke  to  pieces,  out 
of  mere  wantonness,  the  cups  from  which  they  had  been  . 
feasted ;  and  this  so  exasperated  the  emigrants  that  many  of 
them  seized  their  rifles  and  could  scarcely  be  restrained  from 
firing  on  the  insolent  mob  of  Indians.  Before  we  left  the 
country  this  dangerous  spirit  on  the  part  of  the  Dakota  had 
mounted  to  a  yet  higher  pitch.  They  began  openly  to 
threaten  the  emigrants  with  destruction,  and  actually  fired 
upon  one  or  two  parties  of  whites.  A  military  force  and 
military  law  are  urgently  called  for  in  that  perilous  region; 
and  unless  troops  are  speedily  stationed  at  Fort  Laramie,  or 
elsewhere  in  the  neighborhood,  both  the  emigrants  and  other 
travelers  will  be  exposed  to  most  imminent  risks. 

The  Ogallalla,  the  Brules,  and  the  other  western  bands 
of  the  Dakota,  are  thorough  savages,  unchanged  by  any  con- 
tact with  civilization.  Not  one  of  them  can  speak  a  Euro- 
pean tongue,  or  has  ever  visited  an  American  settlement. 
Until  within  a  year  or  two,  when  the  emigrants  began  to 
pass  through  their  country  on  the  way  to  Oregon,  they  had 
seen  no  whites  except  the  handful  employed  about  the  Fur 
Company's  posts.  They  esteemed  them  a  wise  people,  inferior 
only  to  themselves,  living  in  leather  lodges  like  their  own, 
and  subsisting  on  buffalo.  But  when  the  swarm  of  Mene- 
aska?  with  their  oxen  and  wagons,  began  to  invade  them, 

1White  men. 


134  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

their  astonishment  was  unbounded.  They  could  scarcely 
believe  that  the  earth  contained  such  a  multitude  of  white 
men.  Their  wonder  is  now  giving  way  to  indignation,  and 
the  result,  unless  vigilantly  guarded  against,  may  be  lament- 
able in  the  extreme. 

But  to  glance  at  the  interior  of  a  lodge.  Shaw  and  I 
used  often  to  visit  them.  Indeed,  we  spent  most  of  our 
evenings  in  the  Indian  village,  Shaw's  assumption  of  the 
medical  character  giving  us  a  fair  pretext.  As  a  sample  of 
the  rest  I  will  describe  one  of  these  visits.  The  sun  had 
just  set,  and  the  horses  were  driven  into  the  corral.  The 
Prairie  Cock,  a  noted  beau,  came  in  at  the  gate  with  a  bevy 
of  young  girls,  with  whom  he  began  a  dance  in  the  area, 
leading  them  round  and  round  in  a  circle,  while  he  jerked 
up  from  his  chest  a  succession  of  monotonous  sounds,  to 
which  they  kept  time  in  a  rueful  chant.  Outside  the  gate 
boys  and  young  men  were  idly  frolicking ;  and  close  by,  look- 
ing grimly  upon  them,  stood  a  warrior  in  his  robe,  with 
his  face  painted  jet-black,  in  token  that  he  had  lately  taken 
a  Pawnee  scalp.  Passing  these,  the  tall  dark  lodges  rose 
between  us  and  the  red  western  sky.  We  repaired  at  once 
to  the  lodge  of  Old  Smoke  himself.  It  was  by  no  means 
better  than  the  others;  indeed,  it  was  rather  shabby;  for  in 
this  democratic  community  the  chief  never  assumes  superior 
state.  Smoke  sat  cross-legged  on  a  buffalo  robe,  and  his 
grunt  of  salutation  as  we  entered  was  unusually  cordial,  out 
of  respect  no  doubt  to  Shaw's  medical  character.  Seated 
around  the  lodge  were  several  squaws  and  an  abundance  of 
children.  The  complaint  of  Shaw's  patients  was,  for  the 
most  part,  a  severe  inflammation  of  the  eyes,  occasioned  by 
exposure  to  the  sun,  a  species  of  disorder  which  he  treated 
with  some  success.  He  had  brought  with  him  a  homeo- 
pathic medicine  chest,  and  was,  I  presume,  the  first  who 
introduced  that  harmless  system  of  treatment  among  the 
Ogallala.  No  sooner  had  a  robe  been  spread  at  the  head 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  135 

of  the  lodge  for  our  accommodation,  and  we  had  seated  our- 
selves upon  it,  than  a  patient  made  her  appearance:  the 
chief's  daughter  herself,  who,  to  do  her  justice,  was  the 
best-looking  girl  in  the  village.  Being  on  excellent  terms 
with  the  physician,  she  placed  herself  readily  under  his  hands, 
and  submitted  with  a  good  grace  to  his  applications,  laugh- 
ing in  his  face  during  the  whole  process ;  for  a  squaw  hardly 
knows  how  to  smile.  This  case  dispatched,  another  of  a 
different  kind  succeeded.  A  hideous,  emaciated  old  woman 
sat  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  lodge,  rocking  to  and  fro 
with  pain  and  hiding  her  eyes  from  the  light  by  pressing 
the  palms  of  both  hands  against  her  face.  At  Smoke's  com- 
mand, she  came  forward,  very  unwillingly,  and  exhibited  a 
pair  of  eyes  that  had  nearly  disappeared  from  excess  of 
inflammation.  No  sooner  had  the  doctor  fastened  his  grip 
upon  her  than  she  sat  up  a  dismal  moaning,  and  writhed  so 
in  his  grasp  that  he  lost  all  patience ;  but  being  resolved  to 
carry  his  point,  he  succeeded  at  last  in  applying  his  favorite 
remedies. 

"It  is  strange,"  he  said,  when  the  operation  was  finished, 
"that  I  forgot  to  bring  any  Spanish  flies1  with  me;  we  must 
have  something  here  to  answer  for  a  counter  irritant!" 

So,  in  the  absence  of  better,  he  seized  upon  a  red-hot 
brand  from  the  fire  and  clapped  it  against  the  temple  of 
the  old  squaw,  who  set  up  an  unearthly  howl,  at  which  the 
rest  of  the  family  broke  out  into  a  laugh. 

During  these  medical  operations  Smoke's  eldest  squaw 
entered  the  lodge,  with  a  sort  of  stone  mallet  in  her  hand. 
I  had  observed  some  time  before  a  litter  of  well-grown  black 
puppies,  comfortably  nestled  among  some  buffalo  robes,  at 
one  side;  but  this  newcomer  speedily  disturbed  their  enjoy- 
ment; for  seizing  one  of  them  by  the  hind  paw,  she  dragged 
him  out,  and  carrying  him  to  the  entrance  of  the  lodge, 
hammered  him  on  the  head  till  she  killed  him.  Being  quite 

lAn  insect  formerly  used  to  produce  blisters. 


136  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

conscious  to  what  this  preparation  tended,  I  looked  through 
a  hole  in  the  back  of  the  lodge  to  see  the  next  steps  of  the 
process.  The  squaw,  holding  the  pilppy  by  the  legs,  was 
swinging  him  to  and  fro  through  the  blaze  of  a  fire,  until 
the  hair  was  singed  off.  This  done,  she  unsheathed  her 
knife  and  cut  him  into  small  pieces,  which  she  dropped  into 
a  kettle  to  boil.  In  a  few  moments  a  large  wooden  dish 
was  set  before  us,  filled  with  this  delicate  preparation.  We 
felt  conscious  of  the  honor.  A  dog-feast  is  the  greatest  com- 
pliment a  Dakota  can  offer  to  his  guest;  and  knowing  that 
to  refuse  eating  would  be  an  affront,  we  attacked  the  little 
dog  and  devoured  him  before  the  eyes  of  his  unconscious 
parent.  Smoke  in  the  meantime  was  preparing  his  great 
pipe.  It  was  lighted  when  we  had  finished  our  repast,  and 
we  passed  it  from  one  to  another  till  the  bowl  was  empty. 
This  done,  we  took  our  leave  without  further  ceremony, 
knocked  at  the  gate  of  the  fort,  and  after  making  ourselves 
known  were  admitted. 

One  morning,  about  a  week  after  reaching  Fort  Lara- 
mie,  we  were  holding  our  customary  Indian  levee,  when  a 
bustle  in  the  area  below  announced  a  new  arrival ;  and  look- 
ing down  from  our  balcony,  I  saw  a  familiar  red  beard  and 
mustache  in  the  gateway.  They  belonged  to  the  captain, 
who  with  his  party  had  just  crossed  the  stream.  We  met 
him  on  the  stairs  as  he  came  up,  and  congratulated  him  on 
the  safe  arrival  of  himself  and  his  devoted  companions. 
But  he  remembered  our  treachery,  and  was  grave  and  dig- 
nified accordingly ;  a  tendency  which  increased  as  he  observed 
on  our  part  a  disposition  to  laugh  at  him.  After  remaining 
an  hour  or  two  at  the  fort  he  rode  away  with  his  friends, 
and  we  have  heard  nothing  of  him  since.  As  for  R.,  he 
kept  carefully  aloof.  It  was  but  too  evident  that  we  had 
the  unhappiness  to  have  forfeited  the  kind  regards  of  our 
London  fellow-traveler. 


SCENES  AT  FORT  LARAMIE  137 

NOTE. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   WAR   PARTIES 

The  summer  of  1846  was  a  season  of  much  warlike 
excitement  among  all  the  western  bands  of  the  Dakota.  In 
1845  they  encountered  great  reverses.  Many  war  parties 
had  been  sent  out;  some  of  them  had  been  totally  cut  off, 
and  others  had  returned  broken  and  disheartened,  so  that 
the  whole  nation  was  in  mourning.  Among  the  rest,  ten 
warriors  had  gone  to  the  Snake  country,  led  by  the  son  of  a 
prominent  Ogallala  chief,  called  The  Whirlwind.  In  pass- 
ing over  Laramie  Plains1  they  encountered  a  superior  num- 
ber of  their  enemies,  were  surrounded,  and  killed  to  a  man. 
Having  performed  this  exploit  the  Snakes  became  alarmed, 
dreading  the  resentment  of  the  Dakota,  and  they  hastened 
therefore  to  signify  their  wish  for  peace  by  sending  the  scalp 
of  the  slain  partisan,  together  with  a  small  parcel  of  tobacco 
attached,  to  his  tribesmen  and  relations.  They  had  employed 
old  Vaskiss,  the  trader,  as  their  messenger,  and  the  scalp  was 
the  same  that  hung  in  our  room  at  the  fort.  But  The  Whirl- 
wind proved  inexorable.  Though  his  character  hardly  cor- 
responds with  his  name,  he  is  nevertheless  an  Indian,  and 
hates  the  Snakes  with  his  whole  soul.  Long  before  the  scalp 
arrived  he  had  made  his  preparations  for  revenge.  He  sent 
messengers  with  presents  and  tobacco  to  all  the  Dakota 
within  three  hundred  miles,  proposing  a  grand  combination 
to  chastise  the  Snakes,  and  naming  a  place  and  time  of  ren- 
dezvous. The  plan  was  readily  adopted,  and  at  this  moment 
many  villages,  probably  embracing  in  the  whole  five  or  six 
thousand  souls,  were  slowly  creeping  over  the  prairies  and 

*Laramie  Plains  have  an  area  of  about  1*200  square  miles. 
138 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  139 

tending  toward  the  common  center  at  La  Bonte's  camp, 
on  the  Platte.  Here  their  warlike  rites  were  to  be  cele- 
brated with  more  than  ordinary  solemnity,  and  a  thousand 
warriors,  as  it  was  said,  were  to  set  out  for  the  enemy's 
country.  The  characteristic  result  of  this  preparation  will 
appear  in  the  sequel. 

I  was  greatly  rejoiced  to  hear  of  it.  I  had  come  into 
the  country  almost  exclusively  with  a  view  of  observing  the 
Indian  character.  Having  from  childhood  felt  a  curiosity 
on  this  subject,  and  having  failed  completely  to  gratify  it 
by  reading,  I  resolved  to  have  recourse  to  observation.  I 
wished  to  satisfy  myself  with  regard  to  the  position  of  the 
Indians  among  the  races  of  men;  the  vices  and  the  virtues 
that  have  sprung  from  their  innate  character  and  from  their 
modes  of  life,  their  government,  their  superstitions,  and  their 
domestic  situation.  To  accomplish  my  purpose  it  was  neces- 
sary to  live  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  become,  as  it  were,  one 
of  them.  I  proposed  to  join  a  village,  and  make  myself  an 
inmate  of  one  of  their  lodges;  and  henceforward  this  nar- 
rative, so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  will  be  chiefly  a  record  of 
the  progress  of  this  design,  apparently  so  easy  of  accomplish- 
ment, and  the  unexpected  impediments  that  opposed  it. 

We  resolved  on  no  account  to  miss  the  rendezvous  at  La 
Bonte's  camp.  Our  plan  was  to  leave  Deslauriers  at  the 
fort,  in  charge  of  our  equipage  and  the  better  part  of  our 
horses,  while  we  took  with  us  nothing  but  our  weapons  and 
the  worst  animals  we  had.  In  all  probability  jealousies  and 
quarrels  would  arise  among  so  many  hordes  of  fierce,  impul- 
sive savages,  congregated  together  under  no  common 
head,  and  many  of  them  strangers  from  remote  prai- 
ries and  mountains.  We  were  bound  in  common  prudence 
to  be  cautious  how  we  excited  any  feeling  of  cupidity.  This 
was  our  plan,  but  unhappily  we  were  not  destined  to  visit 
La  Bonte's  camp  in  this  manner;  for  one  morning  a  young 
Indian  came  to  the  fort  and  brought  us  evil  tidings.  The 


140  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

newcomer  was  a  dandy  of  the  first  water.  His  ugly  face 
was  painted  with  vermilion;  on  his  head  fluttered  the  tail 
of  a  prairie  cock  (a  large  species  of  pheasant,  not  found,  as 
I  have  heard,  eastward  of  the  Rocky  Mountains)  ;  in  his 
ears  were  hung  pendants  of  shell,  and  a  flaming  red  blanket 
was  wrapped  around  him.  He  carried  a  dragoon  sword  in 
his  hand,  solely  for  display,  since  the  knife,  the  arrow,  and 
the  rifle  are  the  arbiters  of  every  prairie  fight;  but  as  no  one 
in  this  country  goes  abroad  unarmed,  the  dandy  carried  a 
bow  and  arrows  in  an  otter-skin  quiver  at  his  back.  In  this 
guise,  and  bestriding  his  yellow  horse  with  an  air  of  extreme 
dignity,  The  Horse,  for  that  was  his  name,  rode  in  at  the 
gate,  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  but  casting 
glances  askance  at  the  groups  of  squaws  who,  with  their 
mongrel  progeny,  were  sitting  in  the  sun  before  their  doors. 
The  evil  tidings  brought  by  The  Horse  were  of  the  follow- 
ing import :  The  squaw  of  Henry  Chatillon  .  .  .  was  dan- 
gerously ill.  She  and  her  children  were  in  the  village  of 
The  Whirlwind,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  days'  journey. 
Henry  was  anxious  to  see  the  woman  before  she  died,  and 
provide  for  the  safety  and  support  of  his  children,  of  whom 
he  was  extremely  fond.  To  have  refused  him  this  would  have 
been  gross  inhumanity.  We  abandoned  our  plan  of  joining 
Smoke's  village  and  of  proceeding  with  it  to  the  rendezvous, 
and  determined  to  meet  The  Whirlwind  and  go  in  his 
company. 

I  had  been  slightly  ill  for  several  weeks,  but  on  the  third 
night  after  reaching  Fort  Laramie  a  violent  pain  awoke  me, 
and  I  found  myself  attacked  by  the  same  disorder1  that 
occasioned  such  heavy  losses  to  the  army  on  the  Rio  Grande. 
In  a  day  and  a  half  I  was  reduced  to  extreme  weakness,  so 
that  I  could  not  walk  without  pain  and  effort.  Having 
within  that  time  taken  six  grains  of  opium  without  the  least 
beneficial  effect,  and  having  no  medical  adviser  nor  any 

1Dysentery,  a  disease  formerly  common  in  camps. 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  141 

choice  of  diet,  I  resolved  to  throw  myself  upon  Providence 
for  recovery,  using,  without  regard  to  the  disorder,  any 
portion  of  strength  that  might  remain  to  me.  So  on  the 
twentieth  of  June  we  set  out  from  Fort  Laramie  to  meet 
The  Whirlwind's  village.  Though  aided  by  the  high-bowed 
"mountain  saddle,"  I  could  scarcely  keep  my  seat  on  horse- 
back. Before  we  left  the  fort  we  hired  another  man,  a 
long-haired  Canadian  named  Raymond,  with  a  face  like  an 
owl's,  contrasting  oddly  enough  with  Deslauriers's  mercurial 
countenance.  This  was  not  the  only  re-enforcement  to  our 
party.  A  vagrant  Indian  trader,  named  Reynal,  joined  us, 
together  with  his  squaw  Margot  and  her  two  nephews,  our 
dandy  friend,  The  Horse,  and  his  younger  brother,  The  Hail 
Storm.  Thus  accompanied,  we  betook  ourselves  to  the 
prairie,  leaving  the  beaten  trail  and  passing  over  the  desolate 
hills  that  flank  the  bottoms  of  Laramie  Creek.  In  all, 
Indians  and  whites,  we  counted  eight  men  and  one  woman. 
Reynal,  the  trader,  the  image  of  sleek  and  selfish  com- 
placency, carried  The  Horse's  dragoon  sword  in  his  hand, 
delighting  apparently  in  this  useless  parade ;  for,  from  spend- 
ing half  his  life  among  Indians,  he  had  caught  not  only  their 
habits  but  their  ideas.  Margot,  a  female  animal  of  more 
than  two  hundred  pounds'  weight,  was  couched  in  the  basket 
of  a  travail?  such  as  I  have  before  described;  besides  her 
ponderous  bulk,  various  domestic  utensils  were  attached  to 
the  vehicle,  and  she  was  leading  by  a  trail-rope  a  packhorse, 
who  carried  the  covering  of  Reynal's  lodge.  Deslauriers 
walked  briskly  by  the  side  of  the  cart,  and  Raymond  came 
behind,  swearing  at  the  spare  horses  which  it  was  his  busi- 
ness to  drive.  The  restless  young  Indians,  their  quivers  at 
their  backs  and  their  bows  in  their  hands,  galloped  over  the 
hills,  often  starting  a  wolf  or  an  antelope  from  the  thick 
growth  of  wild-sage  bushes.  Shaw  and  I  were  in  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  the  rude  cavalcade,  having  in  the  absence 

Singular  of  travaux.     Cf.  page  129,  note  1. 


142  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

of  other  clothing  adopted  the  buckskin  attire  of  the  trappers. 
Henry  Chatillon  rode  in  advance  of  the  whole.  Thus  we 
passed  hill  after  hill  and  hollow  after  hollow,  a  country  arid, 
broken,  and  so  parched  by  the  sun  that  none  of  the  plants 
familiar  to  our  more  favored  soil  would  flourish  upon  it, 
though  there  were  multitudes  of  strange  medicinal  herbs, 
more  especially  the  absanth,  which  covered  every  declivity; 
and  cacti  were  hanging  like  reptiles  at  the  edges  of  every 
ravine.  At  length  we  ascended  a  high  hill,  our  horses 
treading  upon  pebbles  of  flint,  agate,  and  rough  jasper,  until, 
gaining  the  top,  we  looked  down  on  the  wild  bottoms  of 
Laramie  Creek,  which  far  below  us  wound  like  a  writhing 
snake  from  side  to  side  of  the  narrow  interval,  amid  a  growth 
of  shattered  cotton-wood  and  ash  trees.  Lines  of  tall  cliffs, 
white  as  chalk,  shut  in  this  green  strip  of  woods  and  meadow 
land,  into  which  we  descended  and  encamped  for  the  night. 
In  the  morning  we  passed  a  wide  grassy  plain  by  the  river; 
there  was  a  grove  in  front,  and  beneath  its  shadows  the  ruins 
of  an  old  trading-fort  of  logs.  The  grove  bloomed  with 
myriads  of  wild  roses,  with  their  sweet  perfume  fraught  with 
recollections  of  home.  As  we  emerged  from  the  trees,  a 
rattlesnake,  as  large  as  a  man's  arm  and  more  than  four  feet 
long,  lay  coiled  on  a  rock,  fiercely  rattling  and  hissing  at  us ; 
a  gray  hare,  double  the  size  of  those  of  New  England,  leaped 
up  from  the  tall  ferns ;  curlew  were  screaming  over  our  heads, 
and  a  whole  host  of  little  prairie  dogs  sat  yelping  at  us  at 
the  mouths  of  their  burrows  on  the  dry  plain  beyond.  Sud- 
denly an  antelope  leaped  up  from  the  wild-sage  bushes,  gazed 
eagerly  at  us,  and  then,  erecting  his  white  tail,  stretched 
away  like  a  greyhound.  The  two  Indian  boys  found  a  white 
wolf,  as  large  as  a  calf,  in  a  hollow,  and  giving  a  sharp 
yell,  they  galloped  after  him;  but  the  wolf  leaped  into  the 
stream  and  swam  across.  Then  came  the  crack  of  a  rifle, 
the  bullet  whistling  harmlessly  over  his  head  as  he  scrambled 
up  the  steep  declivity,  rattling  down  stones  and  earth  into 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  143 

water  below.  Advancing  a  little,  we  beheld  on  the 
farther  bank  of  the  stream  a  spectacle  not  common  even  in 
that  region;  for,  emerging  from  among  the  trees,  a  herd  of 
some  two  hundred  elk  came  out  upon  the  meadow,  their 
antlers  clattering  as  they  walked  forward  in  a  dense  throng. 
Seeing  us,  they  broke  into  a  run,  rushing  across  the  opening 
and  disappearing  among  the  trees  and  scattered  groves.  On 
our  left  was  a  barren  prairie  stretching  to  the  horizon;  on 
our  right,  a  deep  gulf  with  Laramie  Creek  at  the  bottom. 
We  found  ourselves  at  length  at  the  edge  of  a  steep  descent; 
a  narrow  valley,  with  long  rank  grass  and  scattered  trees, 
stretching  before  us  for  a  mile  or  more  along  the  course  of 
the  stream.  Reaching  the  farther  end,  we  stopped  and 
encamped.  An  old,  huge  cotton-wood  tree  spread  its  branches 
horizontally  over  our  tent.  Laramie  Creek,  circling  before 
our  camp,  half  inclosed  us;  it  swept  along  the  bottom  of  a 
line  of  tall  white  cliffs  that  looked  down  on  us  from  the 
farther  bank.  There  were  dense  copses  on  our  right;  the 
cliffs,  too,  were  half  hidden  by  shrubbery,  though  behind  us 
a  few  cottonwood  trees,  dotting  the  green  prairie,  alone  im- 
peded the  view,  and  friend  or  enemy  could  be  discerned 
in  that  direction  at  a  mile's  distance.  Here  we  resolved  to 
remain  and  await  the  arrival  of  The  Whirlwind,  who 
would  certainly  pass  this  way  in  his  progress  toward  La 
Bonte's  camp.  To  go  in  search  of  him  was  not  expedient, 
both  on  account  of  the  broken  and  impracticable  nature  of 
the  country  and  the  uncertainty  of  his  position  and  move- 
ments; besides,  our  horses  were  almost  worn  out,  and  I  was 
in  no  condition  to  travel.  We  had  good  grass,  good  water, 
tolerable  fish  from  the  stream,  and  plenty  of  smaller  game 
such  as  antelope  and  deer,  though  no  buffalo.  There  was 
one  little  drawback  to  our  satisfaction — a  certain  extensive 
tract  of  bushes  and  dried  grass,  just  behind  us,  which  it 
was  by  no  means  advisable  to  enter,  since  it  sheltered  a 
numerous  brood  of  rattlesnakes.  Henry  Chatillon  again 


144  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

dispatched  The  Horse  to  the  village,  with  a  message  to  his 
squaw  that  she  and  her  relatives  should  leave  the  rest  and 
push  on  as  rapidly  as  possible  to  our  camp. 

Our  daily  routine  soon  became  as  regular  as  that  of  a 
well-ordered  household.  The  weather-beaten  old  tree  was 
in  the  center;  our  rifles  generally  rested  against  its  vast 
trunk,  and  our  saddles  were  flung  on  the  ground  around  it ; 
its  distorted  roots  were  so  twisted  as  to  form  one  or  two 
convenient  arm-chairs,  where  we  could  sit  in  the  shade  and 
read  or  smoke ;  but  meal-times  became,  on  the  whole,  the  most 
interesting  hours  of  the  day,  and  a  bountiful  provision  was 
made  for  them.  An  antelope  or  a  deer  usually  swung  from 
a  stout  bough,  and  haunches  were  suspended  against  the 
trunk.  That  camp  is  daguerreotyped  on  my  memory;  the 
old  tree,  the  white  tent,  with  Shaw  sleeping  in  the  shadow 
of  it,  and  Reynal's  miserable  lodge  close  by  the  bank  of 
the  stream.  It  was  a  wretched  oven-shaped  structure,  made 
of  begrimed  and  tattered  buffalo  hides  stretched  over  a  frame 
of  poles;  one  side  was  open,  and  at  the  side  of  the  opening 
hung  the  powder  horn  and  bullet  pouch  of  the  owner,  together 
with  his  long  red  pipe,  and  a  rich  quiver  of  otter-skin  with 
a  bow  and  arrows;  for  Reynal,  an  Indian  in  most  things 
but  color,  chose  to  hunt  buffalo  with  these  primitive  weapons. 
In  the  darkness  of  this  cavernlike  habitation  might  be  dis- 
cerned Madame  Margot,  her  overgrown  bulk  stowed  away 
among  her  domestic  implements,  furs,  robes,  blankets,  and 
painted  cases  of  par'  fleche*  in  which  dried  meat  is  kept. 
Here  she  sat  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  a  bloated  impersonation 
of  gluttony  and  laziness,  while  her  affectionate  proprietor 
was  smoking,  or  begging  petty  gifts  from  us,  or  telling  lies 
concerning  his  own  achievements,  or  perchance  engaged  in 
the  more  profitable  occupation  of  cooking  some  preparation 
of  prairie  delicacies.  Reynal  was  an  adept  at  this  work; 
he  and  Deslauriers  have  joined  forces,  and  are  hard  at 

Rawhide. 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  145 

work  together  over  the  fire,  while  Raymond  spreads,  by  way 
of  tablecloth,  a  buffalo  hide,  carefully  whitened  with  pipe- 
clay, on  the  grass  before  the  tent.  Here,  with  ostentatious 
display,  he  arranges  the  teacups  and  plates;  and  then,  creep- 
ing on  all  fours  like  a  dog,  he  thrusts  his  head  in  at  the 
opening  of  the  tent.  For  a  moment  we  see  his  round  owlish 
eyes  rolling  wildly,  as  if  the  idea  he  came  to  communicate 
had  suddenly  escaped  him;  then  collecting  his  scattered 
thoughts,  as  if  by  an  effort,  he  informs  us  that  supper  is 
ready,  and  instantly  withdraws. 

When  sunset  came,  and  at  that  hour  the  wild  and  deso- 
late scene  would  assume  a  new  aspect,  the  horses  were  driven 
in.  They  had  been  grazing  all  day  in  the  neighboring 
meadow,  but  now  they  were  picketed  close  about  the  camp. 
As  the  prairie  darkened  we  sat  and  conversed  around  the 
fire,  until,  becoming  drowsy,  we  spread  our  saddles  on  the 
ground,  wrapped  our  blankets  around  us,  and  lay  down. 
We  never  placed  a  guard,  having  by  this  time  become  too 
indolent;  but  Henry  Chatillon  folded  his  loaded  rifle  in  the 
same  blanket  with  himself,  observing  that  he  always  took  it 
to  bed  with  him  when  he  camped  in  that  place.  Henry  was 
too  bold  a  man  to  use  such  a  precaution  without  good  cause. 
We  had  a  hint  now  and  then  that  our  situation  was  none 
of  the  safest:  several  Crow  war  parties  were  known  to  be 
in  the  vicinity,  and  one  of  them,  that  passed  here  some  time 
before,  had  peeled  the  bark  from  a  neighboring  tree  and 
engraved  upon  the  white  wood  certain  hieroglyphics,  to  sig- 
nify that  they  had  invaded  the  territories  of  their  enemies, 
the  Dakota,  and  set  them  at  defiance.  One  morning  a  thick 
mist  covered  the  whole  country.  Shaw  and  Henry  went 
out  to  ride,  and  soon  came  back  with  a  startling  piece  of 
intelligence:  they  had  found  within  rifle-shot  of  our  camp 
the  recent  trail  of  about  thirty  horsemen.  They  could  not 
be  whites,  and  they  could  not  be  Dakota,  since  we  knew 
no  such  parties  to  be  in  the  neighborhood;  therefore  they 


146  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

must  be  Crows.  Thanks  to  that  friendly  mist,  we  had 
escaped  a  hard  battle;  they  would  inevitably  have  attacked 
us  and  our  Indian  companions  had  they  seen  our  camp. 
Whatever  doubts  we  might  have  entertained  were  quite 
removed  a  day  or  two  after  by  two  or  three  Dakota,  who 
came  to  us  with  an  account  of  having  hidden  in  a  ravine  on 
that  very  morning,  from  whence  they  saw  and  counted  the 
Crows;  they  said  that  they  followed  them,  carefully  keeping 
out  of  sight,  as  they  passed  up  Chugwater;1  that  here  the 
Crows  discovered  five  dead  bodies  of  Dakota,  placed  accord- 
ing to  the  national  custom  in  trees,  and  flinging  them  to  the 
ground,  they  held  their  guns  against  them  and  blew  them 
to  atoms. 

If  our  camp  were  not  altogether  safe,  still  it  was  com- 
fortable enough;  at  least  it  was  so  to  Shaw,  for  I  was  tor- 
mented with  illness  and  vexed  by  the  delay  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  my  designs.  When  a  respite  in  my  disorder 
gave  me  some  returning  strength,  I  rode  out  well-armed 
upon  the  prairie,  Or  bathed  with  Shaw  in  the  stream,  or 
waged  a  petty  warfare  with  the  inhabitants  of  a  neighboring 
prairie-dog  village.  Around  our  fire  at  night  we  employed 
-ourselves  in  inveighing  against  the  fickleness  and  inconstancy 
of  Indians,  and  execrating  The  Whirlwind  and  all  his  vil- 
lage. At  last  the  thing  grew  insufferable. 

"To-morrow  morning,"  said  I,  "I  will  start  for  the  fort, 
and  see  if  I  can  hear  any  news  there."  Late  that  evening, 
when  the  fire  had  sunk  low  and  all  the  camp  were  asleep, 
a  loud  cry  sounded  from  the  darkness.  Henry  started  up, 
recognized  the  voice,  replied  to  it^  and  our  dandy  friend,  The 
Horse,  rode  in  among  us,  just  returned  from  his  mission 
to  the  village.  He  coolly  picketed  his  mare  without  saying  a 
word,  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  began  to  eat,  but  his  imper- 
turbable philosophy  was  too  much  for  our  patience.  Where 
was  the  village?  about  fifty  miles  south  of  us;  it  was  mov- 

^hugwater  Creek,  Wyoming. 


I  THE  WAR  PARTIES  147 

slowly  and  would  not  arrive  in  less  than  a  week ;  and 
where  was  Henry's  squaw?  coming  as  fast  as  she  could  with 
Mahto-Tatonka  and  the  rest  of  her  brothers,  but  she  would 
never  reach  us,  for  she  was  dying,  and  asking  every  moment 
for  Henry.  Henry's  manly  face  became  clouded  and  down- 
cast ;  he  said  that  if  we  were  willing  he  would  go  in  the 
morning  to  find  her,  at  which  Shaw  offered  to  accompany 
him. 

We  saddled  our  horses  at  sunrise.  Reynal  protested 
vehemently  against  being  left  alone,  with  nobody  but  the  two 
Canadians  and  the  young  Indians,  when  enemies  were  in  the 
neighborhood.  Disregarding  his  complaints,  we  left  him, 
and  coming  to  the  mouth  of  Chugwater,  separated,  Shaw 
and  Henry  turning  to  the  right,  up  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
while  I  made  for  the  fort. 

Taking  leave  for  a  while  of  my  friend  and  the  unfortu- 
nate squaw,  I  will  relate  by  way  of  episode  what  I  saw  and 
did  at  Fort  Laramie.  It  was  not  more  than  eighteen  miles 
distant,  and  I  reached  it  in  three  hours;  a  shriveled  little 
figure,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  dingy  white  Canadian 
capote,  stood  in  the  gateway,  holding  by  a  cord  of  bull's 
hide  a  shaggy  wild  horse  which  he  had  lately  caught.  His 
sharp,  prominent  features  and  his  little,  keen,  snakelike  eyes, 
looked  out  from  beneath  the  shadowy  hood  of  the  capote, 
which  was  drawn  over  his  head  exactly  like  the  cowl  of  a 
Capuchin  friar.1  His  face  was  extremely  thin  and  like  an 
old  piece  of  leather,  and  his  mouth  spread  from  ear  to  ear. 
Extending  his  long  wiry  hand,  he  welcomed  me  with  some- 
thing more  cordial  than  the  ordinary  cold  salute  of  an 
Indian,  for  we  were  excellent  friends.  He  had  made  an 
exchange  of  horses  to  our  mutual  advantage;  and  Paul, 
thinking  himself  well-treated,  had  declared  everywhere  that 
the  white  man  had  a  good  heart.  He  was  a  Dakota  from 

1A  member  of  the  Franciscan  order  established  by  Francis  of  Assissi,  b. 
1182?,  d.  1226;  called  Capuchins  (Latin  caput)  frorr  the  hood  or  cowl  commonly 
worn. 


148  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

the  Missouri,  a  reputed  son  of  the  half-breed  interpreter, 
Pierre  Dorion,  so  often  mentioned  in  Irving's  "Astoria."1  He 
said  that  he  was  going  to  Richard's  trading  house  to  sell  his 
horse  to  some  emigrants  who  were  encamped  there,  and  asked 
me  to  go  with  him.  We  forded  the  stream  together,  Paul 
dragging  his  wild  charge  behind  him.  As  we  passed  over 
the  sandy  plains  beyond,  he  grew  quite  communicative.  Paul 
was  a  cosmopolitan  in  his  way;  he  had  been  to  the  settle- 
ments of  the  whites,  and  visited  in  peace  and  war  most  of 
the  tribes  within  the  range  of  a  thousand  miles.  He  spoke 
a  jargon  of  French  and  another  of  English,  yet  nevertheless 
he  was  a  thorough  Indian ;  and  as  he  told  of  the  bloody  deeds 
of  his  own  people  against  their  enemies,  his  little  eye  would 
glitter  with  a  fierce  lustre.  He  told  how  the  Dakota  exter- 
minated a  village  of  the  Hohays  on  the  Upper  Missouri, 
slaughtering  men,  women,  and  children;  and  how  an  over- 
whelming force  of  them  cut  off  sixteen  of  the  brave  Dela- 
wares,  who  fought  like  wolves  to  the  last,  amid  the  throng 
of  their  enemies.  He  told  me  also  another  story,  which  I 
did  not  believe  until  I  had  heard  it  confirmed  from  so  many 
independent  sources  that  no  room  was  left  for  doubt.  I  am 
tempted  to  introduce  it  here. 

Six  years  ago  a  fellow  named  Jim  Beckwith,  a  mongrel 
of  French,  American,  and  negro  blood,  was  trading  for  the 
Fur  Company  in  a  very  large  village  of  the  Crows.  Jim 
Beckwith  was  last  summer  at  St.  Louis.  He  is  a  ruffian  of 
the  first  stamp,  bloody  and  treacherous,  without  honor  or 
honesty;  such  at  least  is  the  character  he  bears  upon  the 
prairie.  Yet  in  his  case  all  the  standard  rules  of  character 
fail,  for  though  he  will  stab  a  man  in  his  sleep,  he  will  also 
perform  most  desperate  acts  of  daring;  such,  for  instance, 
as  the  following.  While  he  was  in  the  Crow  village,  a 
Blackfoot  war  party,  between  thirty  and  forty  in  number, 

lAn  invaluable  account  of  J.  J.  Astor's  fur-trading  enterprise  and  of  the 
early  history  of  Oregon,  published  in  1836. 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  149 

stealing  through  the  country,  killing  stragglers  and 
carrying  off  horses.  The  Crow  warriors  got  upon  their 
trail  and  pressed  them  so  closely  that  they  could  not  escape; 
at  which  the  Blackfeet,  throwing  up  a  semicircular  breast- 
work of  logs  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice,  coolly  awaited  their 
approach.  The  logs  and  sticks,  piled  four  or  five  feet  high, 
protected  them  in  front.  The  Crows  might  have  swept 
over  the  breastwork  and  exterminated  their  enemies;  but 
though  outnumbering  them  tenfold,  they  did  not  dream  of 
storming  the  little  fortification.  Such  a  proceeding  would 
be  altogether  repugnant  to  their  notions  of  warfare.  Whoop- 
ing and  yelling,  and  jumping  from  side  to  side  like  devils 
incarnate,  they  showered  bullets  and  arrows  upon  the  logs; 
not  a  Blackfoot  was  hurt,  but  several  Crows,  in  spite  of 
their  leaping  and  dodging,  were  shot  down.  In  this  childish 
manner  the  fight  went  on  for  an  hour  or  two.  Now  and 
then  a  Crow  warrior,  in  an  ecstasy  of  valor  and  vainglory, 
would  scream  forth  his  war  song,  boasting  himself  the 
bravest  and  greatest  of  mankind,  and  grasping  his  hatchet, 
would  rush  up  and  strike  it  upon  the  breastwork,  and  then 
as  he  retreated  to  his  companions,  fall  dead  under  a  shower 
of  arrows ;  yet  no  combined  attack  seemed  to  be  dreamed  of. 
The  Blackfeet  remained  secure  in  their  intrenchment.  At 
last  Jim  Beckwith  lost  patience. 

"You  are  all  fools  and  old  women,"  he  said  to  the 
Crows;  "come  with  me,  if  any  of  you  are  brave  enough, 
and  I  will  show  you  how  to  fight." 

He  threw  off  his  trapper's  frock  of  buckskin  and  stripped 
himself  naked  like  the  Indians  themselves.  He  left  his 
rifle  on  the  ground,  and  taking  in  his  hand  a  small  light 
hatchet,  he  ran  over  the  prairie  to  the  right,  concealed  by  a 
hollow  from  the  eyes  of  the  Blackfeet.  Then  climbing  up 
the  rocks,  he  gained  the  top  of  the  precipice  behind  them. 
Forty  or  fifty  young  Crow  warriors  followed  him.  By  the 
cries  and  whoops  that  rose  from  below  he  knew  that  the 


150  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Blackfeet  were  just  beneath  him;  and  running  forward,  he 
leaped  dowrn  the  rock  into  the  midst  of  them.  As  he  fell 
he  caught  one  by  the  long  loose  hair,  and,  dragging  him 
down,  tomahawked  him;  then  grasping  another  by  the  belt 
at  his  waist,  he  struck  him  also  a  stunning  blow,  and  gain- 
ing his  feet,  shouted  the  Crow  war-cry.  He  swung  his 
hatchet  so  fiercely  around  him  that  the  astonished  Blackfeet 
bore  back  and  gave  him  room.  He  might,  had  he  chosen, 
have  leaped  over  the  breastwork  and  escaped ;  but  this  was 
not  necessary,  for  with  devilish  yells  the  Crow  warriors  came 
dropping  in  quick  succession  over  the  rock  among  their 
enemies.  The  main  body  of  the  Crows,  too,  answered  the 
cry  from  the  front  and  rushed  up  simultaneously.  The  con- 
vulsive struggle  within  the  breastwork  was  frightful;  for 
an  instant  the  Blackfeet  fought  and  yelled  like  pent-up  tigers ; 
but  the  butchery  was  soon  complete,  and  the  mangled  bodies 
lay  piled  up  together  under  the  precipice.  Not  a  Blackfoot 
made  his  escape. 

As  Paul  finished  his  story  we  came  in  sight  of  Richard's 
fort.  It  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  plain,  a  disorderly  crowd 
of  men  around  it,  and  an  emigrant  camp  a  little  in  front. 

"Now,  Paul/'  said  I,  "where  are  your  Minnicongew 
lodges?" 

"Not  come  yet,"  said  Paul,  "may  be  come  to-morrow." 

Two  large  villages  of  a  band  of  Dakota  had  come  three 
hundred  miles  from  the  Missouri,  to  join  in  the  war,  and 
they  were  expected  to  reach  Richard's  that  morning.  There 
was  as  yet  no  sign  of  their  approach;  so  pushing  through  a 
noisy,  drunken  crowd,  I  entered  an  apartment  of  logs  and 
mud,  the  largest  in  the  fort;  it  was  full  of  men  of  various 
races  and  complexions,  all  more  or  less  drunk.  A  company 
of  California  emigrants,  it  seemed,  had  made  the  discovery 
at  this  late  day  that  they  had  encumbered  themselves  with 
too  many  supplies  for  their  journey.  A  part,  therefore,  they 
had  thrown  away  or  sold  at  great  loss  to  the  traders,  but  had 


deter 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  151 


letermined  to  get  rid  of  their  very  copious  stock  of  Missouri 
whisky  by  drinking  it  on  the  spot.  Here  were  maudlin 
squaws  stretched  on  piles  of  buffalo  robes;  squalid  Mexicans 
armed  with  bows  and  arrows;  Indians  sedately  drunk;  long- 
haired Canadians  and  trappers,  and  American  backwoods- 
men in  brown  homespun,  the  well-beloved  pistol  and  bowie 
knife  displayed  openly  at  their  sides.  In  the  middle  of  the 
room  a  tall,  lank  man,  with  a  dingy  broadcloth  coat,  was 
haranguing  the  company  in  the  style  of  the  stump  orator. 
With  one  hand  he  sawed  the  air,  and  with  the  other  clutched 
firmly  a  brown  jug  of  whisky,  which  he  applied  every  moment 
to  his  lips,  forgetting  that  he  had  drained  the  contents  long 
ago.  Richard  formally  introduced  me  to  this  personage,  who 
was  no  less  a  man  than  Colonel  R.,  once  the  leader  of  the 
party.  Instantly  the  colonel,  seizing  me,  in  the  absence  of 
buttons,  by  the  leather  fringes  of  my  frock,  began  to  define 
his  position.  His  men,  he  said,  had  mutinied  and  deposed 
him,  but  still  he  exercised  over  them  the  influence  of  a 
superior  mind;  in  all  but  the  name  he  was  yet  their  chief. 
As  the  colonel  spoke,  I  looked  round  on  the  wild  assem- 
blage, and  could  not  help  thinking  that  he  was  but  ill  quali- 
fied to  conduct  such  men  across  the  desert  to  California. 
Conspicuous  among  the  rest  stood  three  tall  young  men, 
grandsons  of  Daniel  Boone.  They  had  clearly  inherited  the 
adventurous  character  of  that  prince  of  pioneers;  but  I  saw 
no  signs  of  the  quiet  and  tranquil  spirit  that  so  remarkably 
distinguished  him. 

Fearful  was  the  fate  that  months  after  overtook  some  of 
the  members  of  that  party.  General  Kearny,  on  his  late 
return  from  California,  brought  in  the  account  how  they 
were  interrupted  by  the  deep  snows  among  the  mountains, 
and,  maddened  by  cold  and  hunger,  fed  upon  each  other's 
flesh! 

I  got  tired  of  the  confusion.  "Come,  Paul,"  said  I,  "we 
will  be  off."  Paul  sat  in  the  sun,  under  the  wall  of  the  fort. 


152  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

He  jumped  up,  mounted,  and  we  rode  toward  Fort  Laramie. 
When  we  reached  ft,  a  man  came  out  of  the  gate  with  a 
pack  at  his  back  and  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder;  others  were 
gathering  about  him,  shaking  him  by  the  hand,  as  if  taking 
leave.  I  thought  it  a  strange  thing  that  a  man  should  set 
out  alone  and  on  foot  for  the  prairie.  I  soon  got  an  explana- 
tion. Perrault — this,  if  I  recollect  right,  was  the  Canadian's 
name— had  quarreled  with  the  bourgeois,  and  the  fort  was 
too  hot  to  hold  him.  Bordeaux,  inflated  with  his  transient 
authority,  had  abused,  him,  and  received  a  blow  in  return. 
The  men  then  sprang  at  each  other,  and  grappled  in  the 
middle  of  the  fort.  Bordeaux  was  down  in  an  instant,  at 
the  mercy  of  the  incensed  Canadian ;  had  <not  an  old  Indian, 
the  brother  of  his  squaw,  seized  hold  of  his  antagonist,  he 
would  have  fared  ill.  Perrault  broke  loose  from  the  old 
Indian,  and  both  the  white  men  ran  to  their  rooms  for  their 
guns;  but  when  Bordeaux,  looking  from  his  door,  saw  the 
Canadian,  gun  in  hand,  standing  in  the  area  and  calling  on 
him  to  come  out  and  fight,  his  heart  failed  him;  he  chose 
to  remain  where  he  was.  In  vain  the  old.  Indian,  scandalized 
by  his  brother-in-law's  cowardice,  called  upon  him  to  go  upon 
the  prairie  and  fight  it  out  in  the  white  man's  manner;  and 
Bordeaux's  own  squaw,  equally  incensed,  screamed  to  her 
lord  and  master  that  he  was  a  dog  and  an  old  woman.  It 
all  availed  nothing.  Bordeaux's  prudence  got  the  better  of 
his  valor,  and  he  would  not  stir.  Perrault  stood  showering 
opprobrious  epithets  at  the  recent  bourgeois.  Growing  tired 
of  this,  he  made  up  a  pack  of  dried  meat,  and  slinging  it  at 
his  back,  set  out  alone  for  Fort  Pierre  on  the  Missouri,1  a 
distance  of  three  hundred  miles  over  a  desert  country  full  of 
hostile  Indians. 

I  remained  in  the  fort  that  night.  In  the  morning,  as  I 
was  coming  out  from  breakfast,  conversing  with  a  trader 
named  McCluskey,  I  saw  a  strange  Indian  leaning  against 

1Opposite  the  present  Pierre,  South  Dakota 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  153 

the  side  of  the  gate.  He  was  a  tall,  strong  man,  with  heavy 
features. 

"Who  is  he?"  I  asked.  "That's  The  Whirlwind,"  said 
McCluskey.  "He  is  the  fellow  that  made  all  this  stir 
about  the  war.  It's  always  the  way  with  the  Sioux;  they 
never  stop  cutting  each  other's  throats;  it's  all  they  are  fit 
for;  instead  of  sitting  in  their  lodges  and  getting  robes 
to  trade  with  us  in  the  winter.  If  this  war  goes  on,  we'll 
make  a  poor  trade  of  it  next  season,  I  reckon." 

And  this  was  the  opinion  of  all  the  traders,  who  were 
vehemently  opposed  to  the  war,  from  the  serious  injury  that 
it  must  occasion  to  their  interests.  The  Whirlwind  left  his 
village  the  day  before  to  make  a  visit  to  the  fort.  His  war- 
like ardor  had  abated  not  a  little  since  he  first  conceived  the 
design  of  avenging  his  son's  death.  The  long  and  compli- 
cated preparations  for  the  expedition  were  too  much  for  his 
fickle,  inconstant  disposition.  That  morning  Bordeaux  fast- 
ened upon  him,  made  him  presents,  and  told  him  that  if  he 
went  to  war  he  would  destroy  his  horses  and  kill  no  buffalo 
to  trade  with  the  white  men;  in  short,  that  he  was  a  fool 
to  think  of  such  a  thing,  and  had  better  make  up  his  mind 
to  sit  quietly  in  his  lodge  and  smoke  his  pipe,  like  a  wise 
man.  The  Whirlwind's  purpose  was  evidently  shaken;  he 
had  become  tired,  like  a  child,  of  his  favorite  plan.  Bordeaux 
exultantly  predicted  that  he  would  not  go  to  war.  My 
philanthropy  at  that  time  was  no  match  for  my  curiosity, 
and  I  was  vexed  at  the  possibility  that,  after  all,  I  might 
lose  the  rare  opportunity  of  seeing  the  formidable  ceremonies 
of  war.  The  Whirlwind,  however,  had  merely  thrown  the 
firebrand ;  the  conflagration  was  become  general.  All  the 
western  bands  of  the  Dakota  were  bent  on  war;  and  as  I 
heard  from  McCluskey,  six  large  villages  were  already 
gathered  on  a  little  stream,  forty  miles  distant,  and  were 
daily  calling  to  the  Great  Spirit1  to  aid  them  in  their  enter- 

JThe  Indian  conception  of  God. 


154  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

prise.  McCluskey  had  just  left  them,  and  represented  them 
as  on  their  way  to  La  Bonte's  camp,  which  they  would  reach 
in  a  week,  unless  they  should  learn  that  there  were  no  buf- 
falo there.  I  did  not  like  this  condition,  for  buffalo  this 
season  were  rare  in  the  neighborhood.  There  were  also  the 
two  Minnicongew  villages  that  I  mentioned  before;  but 
about  noon,  an  Indian  came  from  Richard's  fort  with  the 
news  that  they  were  quarreling,  breaking  up,  and  dispersing. 
So  much  for  the  whisky  of  the  emigrants!  Finding  them- 
selves unable  to  drink  the  whole,  they  had  sold  the  residue 
to  these  Indians,  and  it  needed  no  prophet  to  foretell  the 
result;  a  spark  dropped  into  a  powder  magazine  would  not 
have  produced  a  quicker  effect.  Instantly  the  old  jealousies 
and  rivalries  and  smothered  feuds  that  exist  in  an  Indian 
village  broke  out  into  furious  quarrels.  They  forgot  the 
warlike  enterprise  that  had  already  brought  them  three  hun- 
dred miles.  They  seemed  like  ungoverned  children  inflamed 
with  the  fiercest  passions  of  men.  Several  of  them  were 
stabbed  in  the  drunken  tumult ;  and  in  the  morning  they  scat- 
tered and  moved  back  toward  the  Missouri  in  small  parties. 
I  feared  that,  after  all,  the  long-projected  meeting  and  the 
ceremonies  that  were  to  attend  it  might  never  take  place, 
and  I  should  lose  so  admirable  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the 
Indian  under  his  most  fearful  and  characteristic  aspect ;  how- 
ever, in  foregoing  this,  I  should  avoid  a  very  fair  probability 
of  being  plundered  and  stripped,  and,  it  might  be,  stabbed 
or  shot  into  the  bargain.  Consoling  myself  with  this  reflec- 
tion, I  prepared  to  carry  the  news,  such  as  it  was,  to  the 
camp. 

I  caught  my  horse,  and  to  my  vexation  found  he  had  lost 
a  shoe  and  broken  his  tender  white  hoof  against  the  rocks. 
Horses  are  shod  at  Fort  Laramie  at  the  moderate  rate  of 
three  dollars  a  foot;  so  I  tied  Hendrick  to  a  beam  in  the 
corral,  and  summoned  Roubidou,  the  blacksmith.  Roubidou, 
with  the  hoof  between  his  knees,  was  at  work  with  hammer 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  155 

and  file,  and  I  was  inspecting  the  process,  when  a  strange 
voice  addressed  me. 

"Two  more  gone  under!  Well,  there  is  more  of  us  left 
yet.  Here's  Jean  Gras  and  me  off  to  the  mountains  to-mor- 
row. Our  turn  will  come  next,  I  suppose.  It's  a  hard  life, 
anyhow!" 

I  looked  up  and  saw  a  little  man,  not  much  more  than 
five  feet  high,  but  of  very  square  and  strong  proportions. 
In  appearance  he  was  particularly  dingy;  for  his  old  buck- 
skin frock  was  black  and  polished  with  time  and  grease,  and 
his  belt,  knife,  pouch,  and  powder-horn  appeared  to  have 
seen  the  roughest  service.  The  first  joint  of  each  foot  was 
entirely  gone,  having  been  frozen  off  several  winters  before, 
and  his  moccasins  were  curtailed  in  proportion.  His  whole 
appearance  and  equipment  bespoke  the  "free  trapper."1  He 
had  a  round,  ruddy  face,  animated  with  a  spirit  of  careless- 
ness and  gayety  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  the  words  he 
had  just  spoken. 

"Two  more  gone,"  said  I;  "what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Oh,"  said  he;  "the  Arapahos  have  just  killed  two  of 
us  in  the  mountains.  Old  Bull-Tail  has  come  to  tell  us. 
They  stabbed  one  behind  his  back,  and  shot  the  other  with 
his  own  rifle.  That's  the  way  we  live  here!  I  mean  to 
give  up  trapping  after  this  year.  My  squaw  says  she  wants 
a  pacing  horse  and  some  red  ribbons;  I'll  make  enough 
beaver  to  get  them  for  her,  and  then  I'm  done!  I'll  go 
below  and  live  on  a  farm." 

"Your  bones  will  dry  on  the  prairie,  Rouleau!"  said 
another  trapper,  who  was  standing  by;  a  strong,  brutal- 
looking  fellow,  with  a  face  as  surly  as  a  bull-dog's. 

Rouleau  only  laughed,  and  began  to  hum  a  tune  and 
shuffle  a  dance  on  his  stumps  of  feet. 

"You'll  see  us,  before  long,  passing  up  your  way,"  said 
the  other  man. 

JNot  employed  by  the  Fur  Company;  trapping  on  his  own  account. 


156  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

"Well,"  said  I,  "stop  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee  with  us;" 
and  as  it  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  prepared  to  leave 
the  fort  at  once. 

As  I  rode  out,  a  train  of  emigrant  wagons  was  passing 
across  the  stream.  "Whar  are  ye  goin',  stranger?"  Thus 
I  was  saluted  by  two  or  three  voices  at  once. 

"About  eighteen  miles  up  the  creek." 

"It's  mighty  late  to  be  going  that  far!  Make  haste, 
ye'd  better,  and  keep  a  bright  lookout  for  Indians!" 

I  thought  the  advice  too  good  to  be  neglected.  Fording 
the  stream,  I  passed  at  a  round  trot  over  the  plains  beyond. 
But  "the  more  haste,  the  worse  speed."  I  proved  the  truth 
of  the  proverb  by  the  time  I  reached  the  hills  three  miles 
from  the  fort.  The  trail  was  faintly  marked,  and  riding 
forward  with  more  rapidity  than  caution,  I  lost  sight  of  it. 
I  kept  on  in  a  direct  line,  guided  by  Laramie  Creek,  which 
I  could  see  at  intervals  darkly  glistening  in  the  evening  sun, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  woody  gulf  on  my  right.  Half  an  hour 
before  sunset  I  came  upon  its  banks.  There  was  something 
exciting  in  the  wild  solitude  of  the  place.  An  antelope 
sprang  suddenly  from  the  sage-bushes  before  me.  As  he 
leaped  gracefully  not  thirty  yards  before  my  horse,  I  fired, 
and  instantly  he  spun  round  and  fell.  Quite  sure  of  him,  I 
walked  my  horse  toward  him,  leisurely  reloading  my  rifle, 
when  to  my  surprise  he  sprang  up  and  trotted  rapidly  away 
on  three  legs  into  the  dark  recesses  of  the  hills,  whither  I 
had  no  time  to  follow.  Ten  minutes  after,  I  was  passing 
along  the  bottom  of  a  deep  valley,  and  chancing  to  look 
behind  me,  I  saw  in  the  dim  light  that  something  was  follow- 
ing. Supposing  it  to  be  a  wolf,  I  slid  from  my  seat  and  sat 
down  behind  my  horse  to  shoot  it;  but  as  it  came  up,  I  saw 
by  its  motions  that  it  was  another  antelope.  It  approached 
within  a  hundred  yards,  arched  its  graceful  neck,  and  gazed 
intently.  I  leveled  at  the  white  spot  on  its  chest,  and  was 
about  to  fire,  when  it  started  off,  ran  first  to  one  side  and 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  157 

then  to  the  other,  like  a  vessel  tacking  against  a  wind,  and 
at  last  stretched  away  at  full  speed.  Then  it  stopped  again, 
looked  curiously  behind  it,  and  trotted  up  as  before;  but 
not  so  boldly,  for  it  soon  paused  and  stood  gazing  at  me. 
I  fired ;  it  leaped  upward  and  fell  upon  its  tracks.  Measur- 
ing the  distance,  I  found  it  two  hundred  and  four  paces. 
When  I  stood  by  his  side,  the  antelope  turned  his  expiring 
eye  upward.  It  was  like  a  beautiful  woman's,  dark  and  rich. 
"Fortunate  that  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  thought  I;  "I  might  be 
troubled  with  remorse,  if  I  had  time  for  it." 

Cutting  the  animal  up,  not  in  the  most  skillful  manner, 
I  hung  the  meat  at  the  back  of  my  saddle,  and  rode  on  again. 
The  hills  (I  could  not  remember  one  of  them)  closed  around 
me.  "It  is  too  late,"  thought  I,  "to  go  forward.  I  will  stay 
here  to-night,  and  look  for  the  path  in  the  morning."  As 
a  last  effort,  however,  I  ascended  a  high  hill,  from  which, 
to  my  great  satisfaction,  I  could  see  Laramie  Creek  stretch- 
ing before  me,  twisting  from  side  to  side  amid  ragged  patches 
of  timber ;  and  far  off,  close  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  trees, 
the  ruins  of  the  old  trading  fort  were  visible.  I  reached 
them  at  twilight.  It  was  far  from  pleasant,  in  that  uncertain 
light,  to  be  pushing  through  the  dense  trees  and  shrubbery 
of  the  grove  beyond.  I  listened  anxiously  for  the  foot-fall 
of  man  or  beast.  Nothing  was  stirring  but  one  harmless 
brown  bird,  chirping  among  the  branches.  I  was  glad  when 
I  gained  the  open  prairie  once  more,  where  I  could  see  if 
anything  approached.  When  I  came  to  the  mouth  of  Chug- 
water,  it  was  totally  dark.  Slackening  the  reins,  I  let  my  horse 
take  his  own  course.  He  trotted  on  with  unerring  instinct, 
and  by  nine  o'clock  was  scrambling  down  the  steep  descent 
into  the  meadows  where  we  were  encamped.  While  I  was 
looking  in  vain  for  the  light  of  the  fire,  Hendrick,  with  keener 
perceptions,  gave  a  loud  neigh,  which  was  immediately  an- 
swered in  a  shrill  note  from  the  distance.  In  a  moment  I 


158  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

was  hailed  from  the  darkness  by  the  voice  of  Reynal,  who 
had  come  out,  rifle  in  hand,  to  see  who  was  approaching. 

He,  with  his  squaw,  the  two  Canadians  and  the  Indian 
boys,  were  the  sole  inmates  of  the  camp,  Shaw  and  Henry 
Chatillon  being  still  absent.  At  noon  of  the  following  day 
they  came  back,  their  horses  looking  none  the  better  for  the 
journey.  Henry  seemed  dejected.  The  woman  was  dead, 
and  his  children  must  henceforward  be  exposed,  without 
a  protector,  to  the  hardships  and  vicissitudes  of  Indian  life. 
Even  in  the  midst  of  his  grief  he  had  not  forgotten  his  attach- 
ment to  his  bourgeois,  for  he  had  procured  among  his  Indian 
relatives  two  beautifully  ornamented  buffalo  robes,  which 
he  spread  on  the  ground  as  a  present  to  us. 

Shaw  lighted  his  pipe,  and  told  me  in  a  few  words  the 
history  of  his  journey.  When  I  went  to  the  fort  they  left 
me,  as  I  mentioned,  at  the  mouth  of  Chugwater.  They 
followed  the  course  of  the  little  stream  all  day,  traversing 
a  desolate  and  barren  country.  Several  times  they  came 
upon  the  fresh  traces  of  a  large  war  party — the  same,  no 
doubt,  from  whom  we  had  so  narrowly  escaped  an  attack. 
At  an  hour  before  sunset,  without  encountering  a  human 
being  by  the  way,  they  came  upon  the  lodges  of  the  squaw 
and  her  brothers,  who,  in  compliance  with  Henry's  message, 
had  left  the  Indian  village  in  order  to  join  us  at  our  camp. 
The  lodges  were  already  pitched,  five  in  number,  by  the  side 
of  the  stream.  The  woman  lay  in  one  of  them,  reduced  to  a 
mere  skeleton.  For  some  time  she  had  been  unable  to  move 
or  speak.  Indeed,  nothing  had  kept  her  alive  but  the  hope 
of  seeing  Henry,  to  whom  she  was  strongly  and  faithfully 
attached.  No  sooner  did  he  enter  the  lodge  than  she  re- 
vived, and  conversed  with  him  the  greater  part  of  the  night. 
Early  in  the  morning  she  was  lifted  into  a  travail,  and  the 
whole  party  set  out  toward  our  camp.  There  were  but  five 
warriors;  the  rest  were  women  and  children.  The  whole 
were  in  great  alarm  at  the  proximity  of  the  Crow  war  party, 


THE  WAR  PARTIES  159 

who  would  certainly  have  destroyed  them  without  mercy 
had  they  met.  They  had  advanced  only  a  mile  or  two  when 
they  discerned  a  horseman,  far  off  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon. 
They  all  stopped,  gathering  together  in  the  greatest  anxiety, 
from  which  they  did  not  recover  until  long  after  the  horse- 
man disappeared ;  then  they  set  out  again.  Henry  was  riding 
with  Shaw  a  few  rods  in  advance  of  the  Indians,  when 
Mahto-Tatonka,  a  younger  brother  of  the  woman,  hastily 
called  after  them.  Turning  back,  they  found  all  the  Indians 
crowded  around  the  travail  in  which  the  woman  was  lying. 
They  reached  her  just  in  time  to  hear  the  death-rattle  in  her 
throat.  In  a  moment  she  lay  dead  in  the  basket  of  the 
vehicle.  A  complete  stillness  succeeded ;  then  the  Indians 
raised  in  concert  their  cries  of  lamentation  over  the  corpse, 
and  among  them  Shaw  clearly  distinguished  those  strange 
sounds  resembling  the  word  " Hallelujah,"  which,  together 
with  some  other  accidental  coincidences,  has  given  rise  to 
the  absurd  theory  that  the  Indians  are  descended  from  the 
ten  lost  tribes  of  Israel. 

The  Indian  usage  required  that  Henry,  as  well  as  the 
other  relatives  of  the  woman,  should  make  valuable  presents, 
to  be  placed  by  the  side  of  the  body  at  its  last  resting  place. 
Leaving  the  Indians,  he  and  Shaw  set  out  for  the  camp  and 
reached  it,  as  we  have  seen,  by  hard  pushing,  at  about  noon, 
Having  obtained  the  necessary  articles,  they  immediately 
returned.  It  was  very  late  and  quite  dark  when  they  again 
reached  the  lodges.  They  were  all  placed  in  a  deep  hollow 
among  the  dreary  hills.  Four  of  them  were  just  visible 
through  the  gloom,  but  the  fifth  and  largest  was  illuminated 
by  the  ruddy  blaze  of  a  fire  within,  glowing  through  the 
half-transparent  covering  of  rawhides.  There  was  a  perfect 
stillness  as  they  approached.  The  lodges  seemed  without  a 
tenant.  Not  a  living  thing  was  stirring:  there  was  some- 
thing awful  in  the  scene.  They  rode  up  to  the  entrance  of 
the  lodge,  and  there  was  no  sound  but  the  tramp  of  their 


160  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

horses.  A  squaw  came  out  and  took  charge  or  the  animals, 
without  speaking  a  word.  Entering,  they  found  the  lodge 
crowded  with  Indians;  a  fire  was  burning  in  the  midst,  and 
the  mourners  encircled  it  in  a  triple  row.  Room  was  made 
for  the  newcomers  at  the  head  of  the  lodge,  a  robe  spread 
for  them  to  sit  upon,  and  a  pipe  lighted  and  handed  to  them 
in  perfect  silence.  Thus  they  passed  the  greater  part  of  the 
night.  At  times  the  fire  would  subside  into  a  heap  of  embers, 
until  the  dark  figures  seated  around  it  were  scarcely  visible  ; 
then  a  squaw  would  drop  upon  it  a  piece  of  buffalo-fat, 
and  a  bright  flame,  instantly  springing  up,  would  reveal  on 
a  sudden  the  crowd  of  wild  faces,  motionless  as  bronze.  The 
silence  continued  unbroken.  It  was  a  relief  to  Shaw  when 
daylight  returned  and  he  could  escape  from  this  house  of 
mourning.  He  and  Henry  prepared  to  return  homeward; 
first,  however,  they  placed  the  presents  they  had  brought 
near  the  body  of  the  squaw,  which,  most  gaudily  attired, 
remained  in  a  sitting  posture  in  one  of  the  lodges.  A  fine 
horse  was  picketed  not  far  off,  destined  to  be  killed  that 
morning  for  the  service  of  her  spirit,  for  the  woman  was 
lame,  and  could  not  travel  on  foot  over  the  dismal  prairies 
to  the  villages  of  the  dead.  Food,  too,  was  provided,  and 
household  implements,  for  her  use  upon  this  last  journey. 

Henry  left  her  to  the  care  of  her  relatives,  and  came 
immediately  with  Shaw  to  the  camp.  It  was  some  time 
before  he  entirely  recovered  from  his  dejection. 


CHAPTER    XI 

SCENES    AT   THE    CAMP 

Reynal  heard  guns  fired  one  day,  at  the  distance  of  a 
mile  or  two  from  the  camp.  He  grew  nervous  instantly. 
Visions  of  Crow  war  parties  began  to  haunt  his  imagination ; 
and  when  we  returned  (for  we  were  all  absent),  he  renewed 
his  complaints  about  being  left  alone  with  the  Canadians 
and  the  squaw.  The  day  after,  the  cause  of  the  alarm 
appeared.  Four  trappers,  one  called  Moran,  another  Sara- 
phin,  and  the  others  nicknamed  "Rouleau"  and  "Jean  Gras," 
came  to  our  camp  an-d  joined  us.  They  it  was  who  fired 
the  guns  and  disturbed  the  dreams  of  our  confederate  Reynal. 
They  soon  encamped  by  our  side.  Their  rifles,  dingy  and 
battered  with  hard  service,  rested  with  ours  against  the  old 
tree;  their  strong  rude  saddles,  their  buffalo  robes,  their 
traps,  and  the  few  rough  and  simple  articles  of  their  travel- 
ing equipment,  were  piled  near  our  tent.  Their  mountain 
horses  were  turned  to  graze  in  the  meadow  among  our  own ; 
and  the  men  themselves,  no  less  rough  and  hardy,  used  to 
lie  half  the  day  in  the  shade  of  our  tree  lolling  on  the  grass, 
lazily  smoking,  and  telling  stories  of  their  adventures;  and 
I  defy  the  annals  of  chivalry  to  furnish  the  record  of  a  life 
more  wild  and  perilous  than  that  of  a  Rocky  Mountain 
trapper. 

With  this  efficient  re-enforcement  the  agitation  of  Rey- 
nal's  nerves  subsided.  He  began  to  conceive  a  sort  of  attach- 
ment to  our  old  camping  ground;  yet  it  was  time  to  change 
our  quarters,  since  remaining  too  long  on  one  spot  must  lead 
to  certain  unpleasant  results  not  to  be  borne  with  unless 
in  a  case  of  dire  necessity.  The  grass  no  longer  presented  a 
smooth  surface  of  turf;  it  was  trampled  into  mud  and  clay. 

161 


162  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

So  we  removed  to  another  old  tree,  larger  yet,  that  grew 
by  the  river  side  at  a  furlong's  distance.  Its  trunk  was  full 
six  feet  in  diameter;  on  one  side  it  was  marked  by  a  party 
of  Indians  with  various  inexplicable  hieroglyphics,  commemo- 
rating some  warlike  enterprise,  and  aloft  among  the  branches 
were  the  remains  of  a  scaffolding,  where  dead  bodies  had 
once  been  deposited  after  the  Indian  manner. 

"There  comes  Bull-Bear,"  said  Henry  Chatillon,  as  we 
sat  on  the  grass  at  dinner.  Looking  up,  we  saw  several 
horsemen  coming  over  the  neighboring  hill,  and  in  a  moment 
four  stately  young  men  rode  up  and  dismounted.  One  of 
them  was  Bull-Bear,  or  Mahto-Tatonka,  a  compound  name 
which  he  inherited  from  his  father,  the  most  powerful  chief 
in  the  Ogallala  band.  One  of  his  brothers  and  two  other 
young  men  accompanied  him.  We  shook  hands  with  the 
visitors,  and  when  we  had  finished  our  meal — for  this  is  the 
orthodox  manner  of  entertaining  Indians,  even  the  best  of 
them — we  handed  to  each  a  tin  cup  of  coffee  and  a  biscuit, 
at  which  they  ejaculated  from  the  bottom  of  their  throats, 
"How!  how!"  a  monosyllable  by  which  an  Indian  contrives 
to  express  half  the  emotions  that  he  is  susceptible  of.  Then 
we  lighted  the  pipe,  and  passed  it  to  them  as  they  squatted 
on  the  ground. 

"Where  is  the  village?" 

"There,"  said  Mahto-Tatonka,  pointing  southward;  "it 
will  come  in  two  days." 

"Will  they  go  to  the  war?" 

"Yes." 

No  man  is  a  philanthropist  on  the  prairie.  We  wel- 
comed this  news  most  cordially,  and  congratulated  ourselves 
that  Bordeaux's  interested  efforts  to  divert  The  Whirlwind 
from  his  congenial  vocation  of  bloodshed  had  failed  of  suc- 
cess, and  that  no  additional  obstacles  would  interpose  between 
us  and  our  plan  of  repairing  to  the  rendezvous  at  La  Bonte's 
camp. 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  163 

For  that  and  several  succeeding  days,  Mahto-Tatonka 
and  his  friends  remained  our  guests.  They  devoured  the 
relics  of  our  meals;  they  filled  the  pipe  for  us  and  also 
helped  us  to  smoke  it.  Sometimes  they  stretched  themselves 
side  by  side  in  the  shade,  indulging  in  raillery  and  practical 
jokes  ill  becoming  the  dignity  of  brave  and  aspiring  warriors, 
such  as  two  of  them  in  reality  were. 

Two  days  dragged  away,  and  on  the  morning  of  the 
third  we  hoped  confidently  to  see  the  Indian  village.  It  did 
not  come;  so  we  rode  out  to  look  for  it.  In  place  of  the 
eight  hundred  Indians  we  expected,  we  met  one  solitary 
savage  riding  toward  us  over  the  prairie,  who  told  us  that 
the  Indians  had  changed  their  plans,  and  would  not  come 
within  three  days ;  still  he  persisted  that  they  were  going  to 
the  war.  Taking  along  with  us  this  messenger  of  evil 
tidings,  we  retraced  our  footsteps  to  the  camp,  amusing  our- 
selves by  the  way  with  execrating  Indian  inconstancy.  When 
we  came  in  sight  of  our  little  white  tent  under  the  big  tree, 
we  saw  that  it  no  longer  stood  alone.  A  huge  old  lodge 
was  erected  close *by  its  side,  discolored  by  rain  and  storms, 
rotted  with  age,  with  the  uncouth  figures  of  horses  and 
men  and  outstretched  hands  that  were  painted  upon  it  well- 
nigh  obliterated.  The  long  poles  which  supported  this 
squalid  habitation  thrust  themselves  rakishly  out  from  its 
pointed  top,  and  over  its  entrance  were  suspended  a  "medi- 
cine-pipe"1 and  various  other  implements  of  the  magic  art. 
While  we  were  yet  at  a  distance,  we  observed  a  greatly 
increased  population,  of  various  colors  and  dimensions, 
swarming  around  our  quiet  encampment.  Moran,  the  trap- 
per, having  been  absent  for  a  day  or  two,  had  returned,  it 
seemed,  bringing  all  his  family  with  him.  He  had  taken  to 
himself  a  wife,  for  whom  he  had  paid  the  established  price 
of  one  horse.  This  looks  cheap  at  first  sight,  but  in  truth 
the  purchase  of  a  squaw  is  a  transaction  which  no  man 

1  Magic  pipe. 


164  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

should  enter  into  without  mature  deliberation,  since  it  involves 
not  only  the  payment  of  the  first  price,  but  the  formidable 
burden  of  feeding  and  supporting  a  rapacious  horde  of  the 
bride's  relatives,  who  hold  themselves  entitled  to  feed  upon 
the  indiscreet  white  man.  They  gather  round  like  leeches, 
and  drain  him  of  all  he  has. 

Moran,  like  Reynal,  had  not  allied  himself  to  an  aristo- 
cratic circle.  His  relatives  occupied  but  a  contemptible  posi- 
tion in  Ogallala  society;  for  among  these  wild  democrats 
of  the  prairie,  as  among  us,  there  are  virtual  distinctions  of 
rank  and  place;  though  this  great  advantage  they  have  over 
us,  that  wealth  has  no  part  in  determining  such  distinctions. 
Moran's  partner  was  not  the  most  beautiful  of  her  sex,  and 
he  had  the  exceedingly  bad  taste  to  array  her  in  an  old  calico 
gown  bought  from  an  emigrant  woman,  instead  of  the  neat 
and  graceful  tunic  of  whitened  deerskin  worn  ordinarily  by 
the  squaws.  The  moving  spirit  of  the  establishment,  in 
more  senses  than  one,  was  a  hideous  old  hag  of  eighty. 
Human  imagination  never  conceived  hobgoblin  or  witch  more 
ugly  than  she.  You  could  count  all  her  ribs  through  the 
wrinkles  of  the  leathery  skin  that  covered  them.  Her  with- 
ered face  more  resembled  an  old  skull  than  the  countenance 
of  a  living  being,  even  to  the  hollow,  darkened  sockets,  at 
the  bottom  of  which  glittered  her  little  black  eyes.  Her 
arms  had  dwindled  away  into  nothing  but  whipcord  and 
wire.  Her  hair,  half  black,  half  gray,  hung  in  total  neglect 
nearly  to  the  ground,  and  her  sole  garment  consisted  of  the 
remnant  of  a  discarded  buffalo  robe  tied  round  her  waist 
with  a  string  of  hide.  Yet  the  old  squaw's  meager  anatomy 
was  wonderfully  strong.  She  pitched  the  lodge,  packed  the 
horses,  and  did  the  hardest  labor  of  the  camp.  From  morn- 
ing till  night  she  bustled  about  the  lodge,  screaming  like  a 
screech-owl  when  anything  displeased  her.  Then  there  was 
her  brother,  a  "medicine-man,"  or  magician,  equally  gaunt 
and  sinewy  with  herself.  His  mouth  spread  from  ear  to 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  165 

r,  and  his  appetite,  as  we  had  full  occasion  to  learn,  was 
avenous  in  proportion.  The  other  inmates  of  the  lodge  were 
young  bride  and  bridegroom;  the  latter  one  of  those  idle, 
3d-for-nothing  fellows  who  infest  an  Indian  village  as  well 
as  more  civilized  communities.  He  was  fit  neither  for  hunt- 
ing nor  for  war;  and  one  might  infer  as  much  from  the 
stolid,  unmeaning  expression  of  his  face.  The  happy  pair 
had  just  entered  upon  the  honeymoon.  They  would  stretch 
a  buffalo  robe  upon  poles,  so  as  to  protect  them  from  the 
fierce  rays  of  the  sun,  and  spreading  beneath  this  rough 
canopy  a  luxuriant  couch  of  furs,  would  sit  affectionately 
side  by  side  for  half  the  day,  though  I  could  not  discover 
that  much  conversation  passed  between  them.  Probably  they 
had  nothing  to  say;  for  an  Indian's  supply  of  topics  for  con- 
versation is  far  from  being  copious.  There  were  half  a 
dozen  children,  too,  playing  and  whooping  about  the  camp, 
shooting  birds  with  little  bows  and  arrows,  or  making  minia- 
ture lodges  of  sticks,  as  children  of  a  different  complexion 
build  houses  of  blocks. 

A  day  passed,  and  Indians  began  rapidly  to  come  in. 
Parties  of  two  or  three  or  more  would  ride  up  and  silently 
seat  themselves  on  the  grass.  The  fourth  day  came  at  last, 
when  about  noon  horsemen  suddenly  appeared  in  view  on 
the  summit  of  the  neighboring  ridge.  They  descended,  and 
behind  them  followed  a  wild  procession,  hurrying  in  haste 
and  disorder  down  the  hill  and  over  the  plain  below;  horses, 
mules,  and  dogs,  heavily  burdened  travaux,  mounted  war- 
riors, squaws  walking  amid  the  throng,  and  a  host  of  chil- 
dren. For  a  full  half-hour  they  continued  to  pour  down  ; 
and  keeping  directly  to  the  bend  of  the  stream,  within  a 
furlong  of  us,  they  soon  assembled  there,  a  dark  and  con- 
fused throng,  until,  as  if  by  magic,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
tall  lodges  sprung  up.  On  a  sudden  the  lonely  plain  was 
transformed  into  the  site  of  a  miniature  city.  Countless 
horses  were  soon  grazing  over  the  meadows  around  us,  and 


166  TIM,;  OREGON  TRAIL 

the  whole  prairie  was  animated  by  restless  figures  careering 
on  horseback,  or  sedately  stalking  in  their  long  white  robes. 
The  Whirlwind  was  come  at  last!  One  question  yet 
remained  to  be  answered :  "Will  he  go  to  the  war,  in  order 
that  we,  with  so  respectable  an  escort,  may  pass  over  to  the 
somewhat  perilous  rendezvous  at  La  Bonte's  camp?" 

Still  this  remained  in  doubt.  Characteristic  indecision 
perplexed  their  councils.  Indians  cannot  act  in  large  bodies. 
Though  their  object  be  of  the  highest  importance,  they  can- 
not combine  to  attain  it  by  a  series  of  connected  efforts. 
King  Philip,  Pontiac,  and  Tecumseh  all  felt  this  to  their 
cost.  The  Ogallala  once  had  a  war  chief  who  could  control 
them;  but  he  was  dead,  and  now  they  were  left  to  the  sway 
of  their  own  unsteady  impulses. 

This  Indian  village  and  its  inhabitants  will  hold  a  promi- 
nent place  in  the  rest  of  the  narrative,  and  perhaps  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  glance  for  an  instant  at  the  savage  people 
of  which  they  form  a  part.  The  Dakota  (I  prefer  this 
national  designation  to  the  unmeaning  French  name,  Sioux) 
range  over  a  vast  territory,  from  the  river  St.  Peter's  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains  themselves.  They  are  divided  into  sev- 
eral independent  bands,  united  under  no  central  government, 
and  acknowledge  no  common  head.  The  same  language, 
usages,  and  superstitions  form  the  sole  bond  between  them. 
They  do  not  unite  even  in  their  wars.  The  bands  of  the 
east  fight  the  Ojibwas  on  the  Upper  Lakes;  those  of  the 
west  make  incessant  war  upon  the  Snake  Indians  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  As  the  wThole  people  is  divided  into 
bands,  so  each  band  is  divided  into  villages.  Each  village 
has  a  chief,  who  is  honored  and  obeyed  only  so  far  as  his 
personal  qualities  may  command  respect  and  fear.  Some- 
times he  is  a  mere  nominal  chief;  sometimes  his  authority 
is  little  short  of  absolute,  and  his  fame  and  influence  reach 
even  beyond  his  own  village ;  so  that  the  whole  band  to  which 
he  belongs  is  ready  to  acknowledge  him  as  their  head.  This 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  167 

was,  a  few  years  since,  the  case  with  the  Ogallala.  Courage, 
address,  and  enterprise  may  raise  any  warrior  to  the  highest 
honor,  especially  if  he  be  the  son  of  a  former  chief,  or  a 
member  of  a  numerous  family,  to  support  him  and  avenge 
his  quarrels;  but  when  he  has  reached  the  dignity  of  chief, 
and  the  old  men  and  warriors,  by  a  peculiar  ceremony,  have 
formally  installed  him,  let  it  not  be  imagined  that  he  assumes 
any  of  the  outward  semblances  of  rank  and  honor.  He 
knows  too  well  on  how  frail  a  tenure  he  holds  his  station. 
Hie  must  conciliate  his  uncertain  subjects.  Many  a  man  in 
the  village  lives  better,  owns  more  squawrs  and  more  horses, 
and  goes  better  clad  than  he.  Like  the  Teutonic  chiefs  of 
old,  he  ingratiates  himself  with  his  young  men  by  making 
them  presents,  thereby  often  impoverishing  himself.  Does 
he  fail  in  gaining  their  favor,  they  will  set  his  authority 
at  naught,  and  may  desert  him  at  any  moment;  for  the 
usages  of  his  people  have  provided  no  sanctions  by  which  he 
may  enforce  his  authority.  Very  seldom  does  it  happen,  at 
least  among  these  western  bands,  that  a  chief  attains  to 
much  power  unless  he  is  the  head  of  a  numerous  family. 
Frequently  the  village  is  principally  made  up  of  his  relatives 
and  descendants,  and  the  wandering  community  assumes 
much  of  the  patriarchal  character.  A  people  so  loosely  united, 
torn,  too,  with  rankling  feuds  and  jealousies,  can  have  little 
power  or  efficiency. 

The  western  Dakota  have  no  fixed  habitations.  Hunt- 
ing and  fighting,  they  wander  incessantly  through  summer 
and  winter.  Some  are  following  the  herds  of  buffalo  over 
the  waste  of  prairie;  others  are  traversing  the  Black  Hills, 
thronging  on  horseback  and  on  foot  through  the  dark  gulfs 
and  somber  gorges  beneath  the  vast  splintering  precipices, 
and  emerging  at  last  upon  the  "Parks,"1  those  beautiful  but 
most  perilous  hunting  grounds.  The  buffalo  supplies  them 
with  almost  all  the  necessaries  of  life:  with  habitations,  food, 

Galleys  or  open  spaces  between  mountains  or  forests,  suitable  for  grazing. 


168  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

clothing,  and  fuel ;  with  strings  for  their  bows,  with  thread, 
cordage,  and  trail-ropes  for  their  horses,  with  coverings  for 
their  saddles,  with  vessels  to  hold  water,  with  boats  to  cross 
streams,  with  glue,  and  with  the  means  of  purchasing  all 
that  they  desire  from  the  traders.  When  the  buffalo  are 
extinct,  they  too  must  dwindle  away. 

War  is  the  breath  of  their  nostrils.  Against  most  of  the 
neighboring  tribes  they  cherish  a  deadly,  rancorous  hatred, 
transmitted  from  father  to  son,  and  inflamed  by  constant 
aggression  and  retaliation.  Many  times  a  year,  in  every  vil- 
lage, the  Great  Spirit  is  called  upon,  fasts  are  made,  the  war 
parade  is  celebrated,  and  the  warriors  go  out  by  handfuls 
at '  a  time  against  the  enemy.  This  fierce  and  evil  spirit 
awakens  their  most  eager  aspirations  and  calls  forth  their 
greatest  energies.  It  is  chiefly  this  that  saves  them  from 
lethargy  and  utter  abasement.  Without  its  powerful  stimu- 
lus they  would  be  like  the  unwarlike  tribes  beyond  the 
mountains,  who  are  scattered  among  the  caves  and  rocks  like 
beasts,  living  on  roots  and  reptiles.  These  latter  have  little 
of  humanity  except  the  form;  but  the  proud  and  ambitious 
Dakota  warrior  can  sometimes  boast  of  heroic  virtues.  It 
is  very  seldom  that  distinction  and  influence  are  attained 
among  them  by  any  other  course  than  that  of  arms.  Their 
superstition,  however,  sometimes  gives  great  power  to  those 
among  them  who  pretend  to  the  character  of  magicians. 
Their  wild  hearts,  too,  can  feel  the  power  of  oratory  and 
yield  deference  to  the  masters  of  it. 

But  to  return.  Look  into  our  tent,  or  enter,  if  you  can 
bear  the  stifling  smoke  and  the  close  atmosphere.  There, 
wedged  close  together,  you  will  see  a  circle  of  stout  war- 
riors, passing  the  pipe  around,  joking,  .telling  stories,  and 
making  themselves  merry  after  their  fashion.  We  were 
also  infested  by  little  copper-colored  naked  boys  and  snake- 
eyed  girls.  They  would  come  up  to  us,  muttering  certain 
words,  which  being  interpreted  conveyed  the  concise  invita- 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  169 

tion,  "Come  and  eat/'  Then  we  would  rise,  cursing  the 
pertinacity  of  Dakota  hospitality,  which  allowed  scarcely  an 
hour  of  rest  between  sun  and  sun,  and  to  which  we  were 
bound  to  do  honor  unless  we  would  offend  our  entertainers. 
This  necessity  was  particularly  burdensome  to  me,  as  I  was 
scarcely  able  to  walk  from  the  effects  of  illness,  and  was  of 
course  poorly  qualified  to  dispose  of  twenty  meals  a  day. 
Of  these  sumptuous  banquets  I  gave  a  specimen  in  a  former 
chapter,  where  the  tragical  fate  of  the  little  dog  was  chron- 
icled. So  bounteous  an  entertainment  looks  like  an  outgush- 
ing  of  good  will;  but  doubtless  one-half  at  least  of  our  kind 
hosts,  had  they  met  us  alone  and  unarmed  on  the  prairie, 
would  have  robbed  us  of  our  horses,  and  perchance  have 
bestowed  an  arrow  upon  us  beside.  Trust  not  an  Indian. 
Let  your  rifle  be  ever  in  your  hand.  Wear  next  your  heart 
the  old  chivalric  motto,  Semper  Paratus.1 

One  morning  we  were  summoned  to  the  lodge  of  an  old 
man,  in  good  truth  the  Nestor  of  his  tribe.  We  found  him 
half  sitting,  half  reclining  on  a  pile  of  buffalo  robes;  his  long 
hair,  jet-black  even  now,  though  he  had  seen  some  eighty 
winters,  hung  on  either  side  of  his  thin  features.  Those 
most  conversant  with  Indians  in  their  homes  will  scarcely 
believe  me  when  I  affirm  that  there  was  dignity  in  his  counte- 
nance and  mien.  His  gaunt  but  symmetrical  frame  did  not 
more  clearly  exhibit  the  wreck  of  bygone  strength,  than  did 
his  dark,  wasted  features,  still  prominent  and  commanding, 
bear  the  stamp  of  mental  energies.  I  recalled,  as  I  saw  him, 
the  eloquent  metaphor  of  the  Iroquois  sachem:  "I  am  an 
aged  hemlock ;  the  winds  of  a  hundred  winters  have  whistled 
through  my  branches,  and  I  am  dead  at  the  top!"  Opposite 
the  patriarch  was  his  nephew,  the  young  aspirant  Mahto- 
Tatonka;  and  besides  these,  there  were  one  or  two  women 
in  the  lodge. 

The  old  man's  story  is  peculiar,  and  singularly  illustra- 

1Always  ready. 


170  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

tive  of  a  superstitious  custom  that  prevails  in  full  force 
among  many  of  the  Indian  tribes.  He  was  one  of  a  power- 
ful family  renowned  for  their  warlike  exploits.  When  a 
very  young  man,  he  submitted  to  the  singular  rite  to  which 
most  of  the  tribe  subject  themselves  before  entering  upon 
life.  He  painted  his  face  black;  then  seeking  out  a  cavern 
in  a  sequestered  part  of  the  Black  Hills,  he  lay  for  several 
days,  fasting  and  praying  to  the  Great  Spirit.  In  the  dreams 
and  visions  produced  by  his  weakened  and  excited  state,  he 
fancied,  like  all  Indians,  that  he  saw  supernatural  revela- 
tions. Again  and  again  the  form  of  an  antelope  appeared 
before  him.  The  antelope  is  the  graceful  peace  spirit  of  the 
Ogallala;  but  seldom  is  it  that  such  a  gentle  visitor  presents 
itself  during  the  initiatory  fasts  of  their  young  men.  The 
terrible  grizzly  bear,  the  divinity  of  war,  usually  appears  to 
fire  them  with  martial  ardor  and  thirst  for  renown.  At 
length  the  antelope  spoke.  He  told  the  young  dreamer  that 
he  was  not  to  follow  the  path  of  war;  that  a  life  of  peace 
and  tranquillity  was  marked  out  for  him ;  that  henceforward 
he  was  to  guide  the  people  by  his  counsels  and  protect  them 
from  the  evils  of  their  own  feuds  and  dissensions.  Others 
were  to  gain  renown  by  fighting  the  enemy,  but  greatness 
of  a  different  kind  was  in  store  for  him. 

The  visions  beheld  during  the  period  of  this  fast  usually 
determine  the  whole  course  of  the  dreamer's  life,  for  an 
Indian  is  bound  by  iron  superstitions.  From  that  time, 
Le  Borgne,  which  was  the  only  name  by  which  we  knew 
him,  abandoned  all  thoughts  of  war  a*nd  devoted  himself 
to  the  labors  of  peace.  He  told  his  vision  to  the  people. 
They  honored  his  commission  and  respected  him  in  his  novel 
capacity. 

A  far  different  man  was  his  brother,  Mahto-Tatonka, 
who  had  transmitted  his  names,  his  features,  and  many  of 
his  characteristic  qualities  to  his  son.  He  was  the  father  of 
Henry  Chatillon's  squaw,  a  circumstance  which  proved  of 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  171 

some  advantage  to  us,  as  securing  for  us  the  friendship  of 
a  family  perhaps  the  most  distinguished  and  powerful  in  the 
whole  Ogallala  band.  Mahto-Tatonka,  in  his  rude  way, 
was  a  hero.  No  chief  could  vie  with  him  in  warlike  renown 
or  in  power  over  his  people.  He  had  a  fearless  spirit  and  a 
most  impetuous  and  inflexible  resolution.  His  will  was  law. 
He  was  politic  and  sagacious,  and  with  true  Indian  craft  he 
always  befriended  the  whites,  well  knowing  that  he  might 
thus  reap  great  advantages  for  himself  and  his  adherents. 
When  he  had  resolved  on  any  course  of  conduct,  he  would 
pay  to  the  warriors  the  empty  compliment  of  calling  them 
together  to  deliberate  upon  it,  and  when-  their  debates  were 
over,  he  would  quietly  state  his  own  opinion,  which  no  one 
ever  disputed.  The  consequences  of  thwarting  his  imperious 
will  were  too  formidable  to  be  encountered.  Woe  to  those 
who  incurred  his  displeasure!  He  would  strike  them  or 
stab  them  on  the  spot;  and  this  act,  which,  if  attempted  by 
any  other  chief,  would  instantly  have  cost  him  his  life,  the 
awe  inspired  by  his  name  enabled  him  to  repeat  again  and 
again  with  impunity.  In  a  community  where,  from  imme- 
morial time,  no  man  has  acknowledged  any  law  but  his  own 
will,  Mahto-Tatonka,  by  the  force  of  his  dauntless  resolu- 
tion, raised  himself  to  power  little  short  of  despotic.  His 
haughty  career  came  at  last  to  an  end.  He  had  a  host  of 
enemies  only  waiting  for  their  opportunity  of  revenge,  and 
our  old  friend  Smoke,  in  particular,  together  with  all  his 
kinsmen,  hated  him  most  cordially.  Smoke  sat  one  day  in 
his  lodge  in  the  midst  of  his  own  village,  when  Mahto- 
Tatonka  entered  it  alone,  and  approaching  the  dwelling  of 
his  enemy,  called  on  him  in  a  loud  voice  to  come  out,  if  he 
were  a  man,  and  fight.  Smoke  would  not  move.  At  this, 
Mahto-Tatonka  proclaimed  him  a  coward  and  an  old  woman, 
and  striding  close  to  the  entrance  of  the  lodge,  stabbed  the 
chief's  best  horse,  which  was  picketed  there.  Smoke  was 
daunted,  and  even  this  insult  failed  to  call  him  forth.  Mahto- 


1  1-1  fc   WKHUUJN     1  KAIL 


Tatonka  moved  haughtily  away;  all  made  way  for  him,  but 
his  hour  of  reckoning  was  near. 

One  hot  day,  five  or  six  years  ago,  numerous  lodges  of 
Smoke's  kinsmen  were  gathered  around  some  of  the  Fur 
Company's  men,  who  were  trading  in  various  articles  with 
them,  whisky  among  the  rest.  Mahto-Tatonka  was  also 
there  with  a  few  of  his  people.  As  he  lay  in  his  own  lodge, 
a  fray  arose  between  his  adherents  and  the  kinsmen  of  his 
enemy.  The  war-whoop  was  raised,  bullets  and  arrows  began 
to  fly,  and  the  camp  was  in  confusion.  The  chief  sprang  up, 
and  rushing  in  a  fury  from  the  lodge,  shouted  to  the  com- 
batants on  both  sides  to  cease.  Instantly — for  the  attack  was 
preconcerted — came  the  reports  of  two  or  three  guns  and 
the  twanging  of  a  dozen  bows,  and  the  savage  hero,  mortally 
wounded,  pitched  forward  headlong  to  the  ground.  Rouleau 
was  present,  and  told  me  the  particulars.  The  tumult  became 
general,  and  was  not  quelled  until  several  had  fallen  on  both 
sides.  When  we  were  in  the  country  the  feud  between  the 
two  families  was  still  rankling,  and  not  likely  soon  to  cease. 

Thus  died  Mahto-Tatonka,  but  he  left  behind  him  a 
goodly  army  of  descendants,  to  perpetuate  his  renown  and 
avenge  his  fate.  Besides  daughters  he  had  thirty  sons.  .  .  . 
We  saw  many  of  them,  all  marked  by  the  same  dark  com- 
plexion and  the  same  peculiar  cast  of  features.  Of  these 
our  visitor,  young  Mahto-Tatonka,  was  the  eldest,  and  some 
reported  him  as  likely  to  succeed  to  his  father's  honors,  i 
Though  he  appeared  not  more  than  twenty-one  years  old, 
he  had  oftener  struck  the  enemy,  and  stole  more  horses  and 
more  squaws,  than  any  young  man  in  the  village.  We  of 
the  civilized  world  are  not  apt  to  attach  much  credit  to  the 
latter  species  of  exploits;  but  horse-stealing  is  well  known 
as  an  avenue  to  distinction  on  the  prairies,  and  the  other 
kind  of  depredation  is  esteemed  equally  meritorious.  Not 
that  the  act  can  confer  fame  from  its  own  intrinsic  merits. 
Any  one  can  steal  a  squaw,  and  if  he  chooses  afterward  to 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  173 

make  an  adequate  present  to  her  rightful  proprietor,  the 
easy  husband  for  the  most  part  rests  content,  his  vengeance 
falls  asleep,  and  all  danger  from  that  quarter  is  averted. 
Yet  this  is  esteemed  but  a  pitiful  and  mean-spirited  transac- 
tion. The  danger  is  averted,  but  the  glory  of  the  achieve- 
ment also  is  lost.  Mahto-Tatonka  proceeded  after  a  more 
gallant  and  dashing  fashion.  Out  of  several  dozen  squaws 
whom  he  had  stolen,  he  could  boast  that  he  had  never  paid 
for  one,  but  snapping  his  fingers  in  the  face  of  the  injured 
husband,  had  defied  the  extremity  of  his  indignation,  and  no 
onfc  yet  had  dared  to  lay  the  finger  of  violence  upon  him. 
He  was  following  close  in  the  footsteps  of  his  father.  The 
young  men  and  the  young  squaws,  each  in  their  way,  admired 
him.  The  one  would  always  follow  him  to  war,  and  he 
was  esteemed  to  have  an  unrivaled  charm  in  the  eyes  of  the 
other.  Perhaps  his  impunity  may  excite  some  wonder.  An 
arrow  shot  from  a  ravine,  a  stab  given  in  the  dark,  require 
no  great  valor  and  are  especially  suited  to  the  Indian  genius ; 
but  Mahto-Tatonka  had  a  strong  protection.  It  was  not 
alone  his  courage  and  audacious  will  that  enabled  him  to 
career  so  dashingly  among  his  compeers.  His  enemies  did 
not  forget  that  he  was  one  of  thirty  warlike  brethren,  all 
growing  up  to  manhood.  Should  they  wreak  their  anger 
upon  him,  many  keen  eyes  would  be  ever  upon  them,  many 
fierce  hearts  would  thirst  for  their  blood.  The  avenger 
would  dog  their  footsteps  everywhere.  To  kill  Mahto- 
Tatonka  would  be  no  better  than  an  act  of  suicide. 

Though  he  found  such  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair,  he 
was  no  dandy.  As  among  us  those  of  highest  worth  and 
breeding  are  most  simple  in  manner  and  attire,  so  our  aspiring 
young  friend  was  indifferent  to  the  gaudy  trappings  and 
ornaments  of  his  companions.  He  was  content  to  rest  his 
chances  of  success  upon  his  own  warlike  merits.  H'e  never 
arrayed  himself  in  gaudy  blanket  and  glittering  necklaces, 
but  left  his  statue-like  form,  limbed  like  an  Apollo  of  bronze, 


•L/*  1  t±E  OREGON    1  RAIL 

to  win  its'  way  to  favor.  His  voice  was  singularly  deep  and 
strong.  It  sounded  from  his  chest  like  the  deep  notes  of  an 
organ.  Yet,  after  all,  he  was  but  an  Indian.  See  him  as 
he  lier  nere  in  the  sun  before  our  tent,  kicking  his  heels  in 
the  air  and  cracking  jokes  with  his  brother.  Does  he  look 
like  a  hero?  See  him  now  in  the  hour  of  his  glory,  when  at 
sunset  the  whole  village  empties  itself  to  behold  him,  for 
to-morrow  their  favorite  young  partisan  goes  out  against  the 
enemy.  His  superb  headdress  is  adorned  with  a  crest  of  the 
war  eagle's  feathers,  rising  in  a ,  waving  ridge  above  his- 
brow,  and  sweeping  far  behind  him.  His  round  white  shield 
hangs  at  his  breast,  with  feathers  radiating  from  the  center 
like  a  star.  His  quiver  is  at  his  back,  his  tall  lance  in  his 
hand,  the  iron  point  flashing  against  the  declining  sun,  while 
the  long  scalp-locks  of  his  enemies  flutter  from  the  shaft. 
Thus,  gorgeous  as  a  champion  in  his  panoply,  he  rides  round 
and  round  within  the  great  circle  of  lodges,  balancing  with 
a  graceful  buoyancy  to  the  free  movements  of  his  war  horse, 
while  with  a  sedate  brow  he  sings  his  song  to  the  Great 
Spirit.  Young  rival  warriors  look  askance  at  him,  vermilion- 
cheeked  girls  gaze  in  admiration,  boys  whoop  and  scream 
in  a  thrill  of  delight,  and  old  women  yell  forth  his  name 
and  proclaim  his  praises  from  lodge  to  lodge. 

Mahto-Tatonka,  to  come  back  to  him,  was  the  best  of  all 
our  Indian  friends.  Hour  after  hour  and  day  after  day, 
when  swarms  of  savages  of  every  age,  sex,  and  degree  beset 
our  camp,  he  would  lie  in  our  tent,  his  lynx  eye  ever  open 
to  guard  our  property  from  pillage. 

The  Whirlwind  invited  us  one  day  to  his  lodge.  The 
feast  was  finished  and  the  pipe  began  to  circulate.  It  was  a 
remarkably  large  and  fine  one,  and  I  expressed  my  admira- 
tion of  its  form  and  dimensions. 

"If  the  Meneaska  likes  the  pipe,"  asked  The  Whirlwind, 
"why  does  he  not  keep  it?" 

Such  a  pipe  among  the  Ogallala  is  valued  at  the  price 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  175 

jf  a  horse.  A  princely  gift,  thinks  the  reader,  and  worthy 
jf  a  chieftain  and  a  warrior.  The  Whirlwind's  generosity 
•ose  to  no  such  pitch.  He  gave  me  the  pipe,  confidently 
expecting  that  I  in  return  should  make  him  a  present  of 
?qual  or  superior  value.  This  is  the  implied  condition  of 
>very  gift  among  the  Indians  as  among  the  Orientals,  and 
should  it  not  be  complied  with  the  present  is  usually 
•eclaimed  by  the  giver.  So  I  arranged  upon  a  gaudy  calico 
landkerchief  an  assortment  of  vermilion,  tobacco,  knives, 
ind  gunpowder,  and  summoning  the  chief  to  camp,  assured 
lim  of  my  friendship  and  begged  his  acceptance  of  a  slight 
oken  of  it.  Ejaculating  how!  how!  he  folded  up  the  offer- 
ngs  and  withdrew  to  his  lodge. 

Several  days  passed,  and  we  and  the  Indians  remained 
encamped  side  by  side.  They  could  not  decide  whether  or 
lot  to  go  to  the  war.  Toward  evening,  scores  of  them 
vould  surround  our  tent,  «a  picturesque  group.  Late  one 
ifternoon  a  party  of  them,  mounted  on  horseback,  came 
•uddenly  in  sight  from  behind  some  clumps  of  bushes  that 
ined  the  bank  of  the  stream,  leading  with  them  a  mule  on 
vhose  back  was  a  wretched  negro,  only  sustained  in  his 
eat  by  the  high  pommel  and  cantle  of  the  Indian  saddle. 
:Iis  cheeks  were  withered  and  shrunken  in  the  hollow  of 
lis  jaws,  his  eyes  were  unnaturally  dilated,  and  his  lips 
eemed  shriveled  and  drawn  back  from  his  teeth  like  those 
>f  a  corpse.  When  they  brought  him  up  before  our  tent  and 
ifted  him  from  the  saddle,  he  could  not  walk  or  stand,  but 
ic  crawled  a  short  distance,  and  with  a  look  of  utter  misery 
at  down  on  the  grass.  All  the  children  and  women  came 
)ouring  out  of  the  lodges  round  us,  and  with  screams  and 
:ries  made  a  close  circle  about  him,  while  he  sat  supporting 
limself  with  his  hands,  and  looking  from  side  to  side  with 
i  vacant  stare.  The  wretch  was  starving  to  death!  For 
hirty-three  days  he  had  wandered  alone  on  the  prairie 
without  weapon  of  any  kind;  without  shoes,  moccasins,  or 


176  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

any  other  clothing  than  an  old  jacket  and  pantaloons;  with- 
out intelligence  and  skill  to  guide  his  course,  or  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  productions  of  the  prairie.  All  this  time  he 
had  subsisted  on  crickets  and  lizards,  wild  onions,  and  three 
eggs  which  he  found  in  the  nest  of  a  prairie  dove.  He  had 
not  seen  a  human  being.  Utterly  bewildered  in  the  bound- 
less, hopeless  desert  that  stretched  around  him,  offering  to 
his  inexperienced  eye  no  mark  by  which  to  direct  his  course, 
he  had  walked  on  in  despair  till  he  could  walk  no  longer, 
and  then  crawled  on  his  knees  until  the  bone  was  laid  bare. 
He  chose  the  night  for  his  traveling,  lying  down  by  day  to 
sleep  in  the  glaring  sun,  always  dreaming,  as  he  said,  of  the 
broth  and  corn  cake  he  used  to  eat  under  his  old  master's 
shed  in  Missouri.  Every  man  in  the  camp,  both  white  and 
red,  was  astonished  at  his  wonderful  escape,  not  only  from 
starvation,  but  from  the  grizzly  bears  which  abound  in  that 
neighborhood,  and  the  wolves  which  howled  around  him 
every  night. 

Reynal  recognized  him  the  moment  the  Indians  brought 
him  in.  He  had  run  away  from  his  master  about  a  year 
before  and  joined  the  party  of  M.  Richard,  who  was  then 
leaving  the  frontier  for  the  mountains.  He  had  lived  with 
Richard  ever  since,  until  in  the  end  of  May  he,  with  Rey- 
nal and  several  other  men,  went  out  in  search  of  some  stray 
horses,  when  he  got  separated  from  the  rest  in  a  storm,  and 
had  never  been  heard  of  up  to  this  time.  Knowing  his 
inexperience  and  helplessness,  no  one  dreamed  that  he  could 
still  be  living.  The  Indians  had  found  him  lying  exhausted 
on  the  ground. 

As  he  sat  there  with  the  Indians  gazing  silently  on  him, 
his  haggard  face  and  glazed  eye  were  disgusting  to  look 
upon.  Deslauriers  made  him  a  bowl  of  gruel,  but  he  suf- 
fered it  to  remain  untasted  before  him.  At  length  he  lan- 
guidly raised  the  spoon  to  his  lips ;  again  he  did  so,  and  again  ; 
and  then  his  appetite  seemed  suddenly  inflamed  into  madness, 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  177 

for  he  seized  the  bowl,  swallowed  all  its  contents  in  a  few 
seconds,  and  eagerly  demanded  meat.  This  we  refused, 
telling  him  to  wait  until  morning,  but  he  begged  so  eagerly 
that  we  gave  him  a  small  piece,  which  he  devoured,  tearing 
it  like  a  dog.  He  said  he  must  have  more.  We  told  him 
that  his  life  was  in  danger  if  he  ate  so  immoderately  at  first. 
He  assented,  and  said  he  knew  he  was  a  fool  to  do  so,  but 
he  must  have  meat.  This  we  absolutely  refused,  to  the 
great  indignation  of  the  senseless  squaws,  who,  when  we 
were  not  watching  him,  would  slyly  bring  dried  meat  and 
pommes  blanches*  and  place  them  on  the  ground  by  his 
side.  Still  this  was  not  enough  for  him.  When  it  grew 
dark  he  contrived  to  creep  away  between  the  legs  of  the 
horses  and  crawl  over  to  the  Indian  village,  about  a  furlong 
down  the  stream.  Here  he  fed  to  his  heart's  content,  and 
was  brought  back  again  in  the  morning,  when  Jean  Gras, 
the  trapper,  put  him  on  horseback  and  carried  him  to  the 
fort.  He  managed  to  survive  the  effects  of  his  insane  greedi- 
ness, and  though  slightly  deranged  when  we  left  this  part 
of  the  country,  he  was  otherwise  in  tolerable  health,  and 
expressed  his  firm  conviction  that  nothing  could  ever  kill  him. 
When  the  sun  was  yet  an  hour  high,  it  was  a  gay  scene 
in  the  village.  The  warriors  stalked  sedately  among  the 
lodges  or  along  the  margin  of  the  streams,  or  walked  out  to 
visit  the  bands  of  horses  that  were  feeding  over  the  prairie. 
Half  the  village  population  deserted  the  close  and  heated 
lodges  and  betook  themselves  to  the  water;  and  here  you 
might  see  boys  and  girls  and  young  squaws  splashing,  swim- 
ming, and  diving  beneath  the  afternoon  sun,  with  merry 
laughter  and  screaming.  But  when  the  sun  was  just  resting 
above  the  broken  peaks,  and  the  purple  mountains  threw 
their  prolonged  shadows  for  miles  over  the  prairie;  when  our 
grim  old  tree,  lighted  by  the  horizontal  rays,  assumed  an 

1Pomme  blanche,  white  apple,  a  root  used  by  the  Indians,  in  dry  and  powdered 
form,  to  mix  with  soup.  See  Elliott  Coues,  History  of  the  Lewis  and  Clark  Expe- 
dition, III,  1173. 


178  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

aspect  of  peaceful  repose  such  as  one  loves  after  scenes  of 
tumult  and  excitement;  and  when  the  whole  landscape  of 
swelling  plains  and  scattered  groves  was  softened  into  a  tran- 
quil beauty,  then  our  encampment  presented  a  striking  spec- 
tacle. Could  Salvator  Rosa1  have  transferred  it  to  his  can- 
vas, it  would  have  added  new  renown  to  his  pencil.  Savage 
figures  surrounded  our  tent,  with  quivers  at  their  backs  and 
guns,  lances,  or  tomahawks  in  their  hands.  Some  sat  on 
horseback,  motionless  as  equestrian  statues,  their  arms  crossed 
on  their  breasts,  their  eyes  fixed  in  a  steady  unwavering  gaze 
upon  us.  Some  stood  erect,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in 
their  long  white  robes  of  buffalo  hide.  Some  sat  together 
on  the  grass,  holding  their  shaggy  horses  by  a  rope,  with 
their  broad,  dark  busts  exposed  to  view  as  they  suffered  their 
robes  to  fall  from  their  shoulders.  Others  again  stood  care- 
lessly among  the  throng,  with  nothing  to  conceal  the  match- 
less symmetry  of  their  forms ;  and  I  do  not  exaggerate  when 
I  say  that  only  on  the  prairie  and  in  the  Vatican2  Have  I 
seen  such  faultless  models  of  the  human  figure.  See  that 
w.arrior  standing  by  the  tree,  towering  six  feet  and  a  half 
in  stature.  Your  eyes  may  trace  the  whole  of  his  graceful 
and  majestic  height,  and  discover  no  defect  or  blemish.  With 
his  free  and  noble  attitude,  with  the  bow  in  his  hand  and 
the  quiver  at  his  back,  he  might  seem,  but  for  his  face,  the 
Pythian  Apollo8  himself.  Such  a  figure  rose  before  the 
imagination  of  West,*  when  on  first  seeing  the  Belvidere  in 
the  Vatican,  he  exclaimed,  "By  God,  a  Mohawk!" 

When  the  sky  darkened  and  the  stars  began  to  appear; 
when  the  prairie  was  involved  in  gloom  and  the  horses  were 
driven  in  and  secured  around  the  camp,  the  crowd  began 

'Italian  painter,  b.  1615,  d.  1673. 

2The  residence  of  the  popes  at  Rome,  famous  also    or  its  art  treasures. 

'The  Pythian  or  Belvidere  Apollo,  representing  Apollo  fighting  with  the 
Pythian  dragon. 

^Benjamin  West,  American  painter,  b.  1738,  d.  1820. 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  179 

to  melt  away.  Fires  gleamed  around,  duskily  revealing  the 
rough  trappers  and  the  graceful  Indians.  One  of  the  fami- 
lies near  us  would  always  be  gathered  about  a  bright  blaze, 
that  displayed  the  shadowy  dimensions  of  their  lodge,  and 
sent  its  lights  far  up  among  the  masses  of  foliage  above, 
gilding  the  dead  and  ragged  branches.  Withered  witchlike 
hags  flitted  around  the  blaze,  and  here  for  hour  after  hour 
sat  a  circle  of  children  and  young  girls,  laughing  and  talk- 
ing, their  round  merry  faces  glowing  in  the  ruddy  light. 
We  could  hear  the  monotonous  notes  of  the  drum  from  the 
Indian  village,  with  the  chant  of  the  war  song,  deadened 
in  the  distance,  and  the  long  chorus  of  quavering  yells, 
where  the  war  dance  was  going  on  in  the  largest  lodge.  For 
several  nights,  too,  we  could  hear  wild  and  mournful  cries, 
rising  and  dying  away  like  the  melancholy  voice  of  a  wolf. 
They  came  from  the  sisters  and  female  relatives  of  Mahto- 
Tatonka,  who  were  gashing  their  limbs  with  knives  and 
bewailing  the  death  of  Henry  Chatillon's  squaw.  The  hour 
would  grow  late  before  all  retired  to  rest  in  the  camp.  Then 
the  embers  of  the  fires  would  be  glowing  dimly,  the  men 
would  be  stretched  in  their  blankets  on  the  ground,  and 
nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  restless  motions  of  the 
crowded  horses. 

I  recall  these  scenes  with  a  mixed  feeling  of  pleasure  and 
pain.  At  this  time  I  was  so  reduced  by  illness  that  I  could 
seldom  walk  without  reeling  like  a  drunken  man,  and  when 
I  rose  from  my  seat  upon  the  ground  the  landscape  suddenly 
grew  dim  before  my  eyes,  the  trees  and  lodges  seemed  to 
sway  to  and  fro,  and  the  prairie  to  rise  and  fall  like  the 
swells  of  the  ocean.  Such  a  state  of  things  is  by  no  means 
enviable  anywhere.  In  a  country  where  a  man's  life  may  at 
any  moment  depend  on  the  strength  of  his  arm,  or  it  may  be 
on  the  activity  of  his  legs,  it  is  more  particularly  inconvenient. 
Medical  assistance,  of  course,  there  was  none;  neither  had  I 
the  means  of  pursuing  a  system  of  diet;  and  sleeping  on  a 


180  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

damp  ground,  with  an  occasional  drenching  from  a  shower, 
would  hardly  be  recommended  as  beneficial.  I  sometimes 
suffered  the  extremity  of  languor  and  exhaustion,  and  though 
at  the  time  I  felt  no  apprehensions  of  the  final  result,  I  have 
since  learned  that  my  situation  was  a  critical  one. 

Besides  other  formidable  inconveniences,  I  owe  it  in  a 
great  measure  to  the  remote  effects  of  that  unlucky  disorder 
that  from  deficient  eyesight  I  am  compelled  to  employ  the 
pen  of  another  in  taking  down  this  narrative  from  my  lips;1 
and  I  have  learned  very  effectually  that  a  violent  attack  of 
dysentery  on  the  prairie  is  a  thing  too  serious  for  a  joke.  I 
tried  repose  and  a  very  sparing  diet.  For  a  long  time,  with 
exemplary  patience,  I  lounged  about  the  camp,  or  at  the 
utmost  staggered  over  to  the  Indian  village  and  walked, 
faint  and  dizzy,  among  the  lodges.  It  would  not  do,  and  I 
bethought  me  of  starvation.  During  five  days  I  sustained 
life  on  one  small  biscuit  a  day.  At  the  end  of  that  time  I 
was  weaker  than  before,  but  the  disorder  seemed  shaken  in 
its  stronghold,  and  very  gradually  I  began  to  resume  a  less 
rigid  diet.  No  sooner  had  I  done  so  than  the  same  detested 
symptoms  revisited  me;  my  old  enemy  resumed  his  perti- 
nacious assaults,  yet  not  with  his  former  violence  or  con- 
stancy; and  though  before  I  regained  any  fair  portion  of 
my  ordinary  strength  weeks  had  elapsed,  and  months  passed 
before  the  disorder  left  me,  yet  thanks  to  old  habits  of 
activity  and  a  merciful  Providence,  I  was  able  to  sustain 
myself  against  it. 

I  used  to  lie  languid  and  dreamy  before  our  tent  and 
muse  on  the  past  and  the  future,  and  when  most  overcome 
with  lassitude,  my  eyes  turned  always  toward  the  distant 
Black  Hills.  There  is  a  spirit  of  energy  and  vigor  in  moun- 
tains, and  they  impart  it  to  all  who  approach  their  presence. 
At  that  time  I  did  not  know  how  many  dark  superstitions 
and  gloomy  legends  are  associated  with  those  mountains  in 

!See  Introduction,  p.  13. 


SCENES  AT  THE  CAMP  181 


the  minds  of  the  Indians,  but  I  felt  an  eager  desire  to  pene- 
trate their  hidden  recesses,  to  explore  the  awful  chasms  and 
precipices,  the  black  torrents,  the  silent  forests,  that  I  fan- 
cied were  concealed  there. 


CHAPTER   XII 

ILL   LUCK 

A  Canadian  came  from  Fort  Laramie,  and  brought  a 
curious  piece  of  intelligence.  A  trapper,  fresh  from  the 
mountains,  had  become  enamored  of  a  Missouri  damsel 
belonging  to  a  family  who,  with  other  emigrants,  had  been 
for  some  days  encamped  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  fort. 
If  bravery  be  the  most  potent  charm  to  win  the  favor  of  the 
fair,  then  no  wooer  could  be  more  irresistible  than  a  Rocky 
Mountain  trapper.  In*  the  present  instance,  the  suit  was  not 
urged  in  vain.  The  lovers  concerted  a  scheme,  which  they 
proceeded  to  carry  into  effect  with  all  possible  dispatch. 
The  emigrant  party  left  the  fort,  and  on  the  next  succeed- 
ing night  but  one  encamped  as  usual,  and  placed  a  guard. 
A  little  after  midnight  the  enamored  trapper  drew  near, 
mounted  on  a  strong  horse  and  leading  another  by  the  bridle. 
Fastening  both  animals  to  a  tree,  he  stealthily  moved  toward 
the  wagons,  as  if  he  were  approaching  a  band  of  buffalo. 
Eluding  the  vigilance  of  the  guard,  who  was  probably  half 
asleep,  he  met  his  mistress  by  appointment  at  the  outskirts 
of  the  camp,  mounted  her  on  his  spare  horse,  and  made  off 
with  her  through  the  darkness.  The  sequel  of  the  adventure 
did  not  reach  our  ears,  and  we  never  learned  how  the  impru- 
dent fair  one  liked  an  Indian  lodge  for  a  dwelling,  and  a 
reckless  trapper  for  a  bridegroom. 

At  length  The  Whirlwind  and  his  warriors  determined 
to  move.  They  had  resolved  after  all  their  preparations  not 
to  go  to  the  rendezvous  at  La  Bonte's  camp,  but  to  pass 
through  the  Black  Hills  and  spend  a  few  weeks  in  hunting 
the  buffalo  on  the  other  side,  until  they  had  killed  enough 

182 


ILL  LUCK  183 

to  furnish  them  with  a  stock  of  provisions  and  with  hides  to 
make  their  lodges  for  the  next  season.  This  done,  they 
were  to  send  out  a  small  independent  war  party  against 
the  enemy.  Their  final  determination  left  us  in  some  em- 
barrassment. Should  we  go  to  La  Bonte's  camp,  it  was 
not  impossible  that  the  other  villages  would  prove  as  vacil- 
lating and  indecisive  as  The  Whirlwind's,  and  that  no 
assembly  whatever  would  take  place.  Our  old  companion 
Reynal  had  conceived  a  liking  for  us,  or  rather  for  our  bis- 
cuit and  coffee,  and  for  the  occasional  small  presents  which 
we  made  him.  He  was  very  anxious  that  we  should  go 
with  the  village  which  he  himself  intended  to  accompany. 
He  declared  that  he  was  certain  that  no  Indians  would  meet 
at  the  rendezvous,  and  said  moreover  that  it  would  be  easy 
to  convey  our  cart  and  baggage  through  the  Black  s  Hills. 
In  saying  this,  he  told  as  usual  an  egregious  falsehood. 
Neither  he  nor  any  white  man  with  us  had  ever  seen  the 
difficult  and  obscure  defiles  through  which  the  Indians  in- 
tended to  make  their  way.  I  passed  them  afterward,  and 
had  much  ado  to  force  my  distressed  horse  along  the  narrow 
ravines,  and  through  chasms  where  daylight  could  scarcely 
penetrate.  Our  cart  might  as  easily  have  been  conveyed 
over  the  summit  of  Pike's  Peak.  Anticipating  the  difficul- 
ties and  uncertainties  of  an  attempt  to  visit  the  rendezvous, 
we  recalled  the  old  proverb  about  "A  bird  in  the  hand," 
and  decided  to  follow  the  village. 

Both  camps,  the  Indians'  and  our  own,  broke  up  on  the 
morning  of  the  first  of  July.  I  was  so  weak  that  the  aid 
of  a  potent  auxiliary,  a  spoonful  of  whisky  swallowed  at 
short  intervals,  alone  enabled  me  to  sit  my  hardy  little  mare 
Pauline  through  the  short  journey  of  that  day.  For  half  a 
mile  before  us  and  half  a  mile  behind,  the  prairie  was  cov- 
ered far  and  wide  with  the  moving  throng  of  savages.  The 
barren,  broken  plain  stretched  away  to  the  right  and  left, 
and  far  in  front  rose  the  gloomy  precipitous  ridge  of  the 


184  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Black  Hills.  We  pushed  forward  to  the  head  of  the  scat- 
tered column,  passing  the  burdened  travaux,  the  heavily 
'laden  pack  horses,  the  gaunt  old  women  on  foot,  the  gay 
young  squaws  on  horseback,  the  restless  children  running 
among  the  crowd,  old  men  striding  along  in  their  white  buf- 
falo robes,  and  groups  of  young  warriors  mounted  on  their 
best  horses.  Henry  Chatillon,  looking  backward  over  the 
distant  prairie,  exclaimed  suddenly  that  a  horseman  was 
approaching,  and  in  truth  we  could  just  discern  a  small  black 
speck  slowly  moving  over  the  face  of  a  distant  swell,  like 
a  fly  creeping  on  a  wall.  It  rapidly  grew  larger  as  it 
approached. 

"White  man,  I  b'lieve,"  said  Henry;  "look  how  he  ride! 
Indian  never  ride  that  way.  Yes;  he  got  rifle  on  the  saddle 
before  him." 

The  horseman  disappeared  in  a  hollow  of  the  prairie, 
but  we  soon  saw  him  again,  and  as  he  came  riding  at  a 
gallop  toward  us  through  the  crowd  of  Indians,  his  long, 
hair  streaming  in  the  wind  behind  him,  we  recognized  the 
ruddy  face  and  old  buckskin  frock  of  Jean  Gras,  the  trapper. 
He  was  just  arrived  from  Fort  Laramie,  where  he  had  been 
on  a  visit,  and  said  he  had  a  message  for  us.  A  trader 
named  Bisonette,  one  of  Henry's  friends,  was  lately  come 
from  the  settlements,  and  intended  to  go  with  a  party  of 
men  to  La  Bonte's  camp,  where,  as  Jean  Gras  assured  us, 
ten  or  twelve  villages  of  Indians  would  certainly  assemble. 
Bisonette  desired  that  we  would  cross  over  and  meet  him 
there,  and  promised  that  his  men  should  protect  our  horses 
and  baggage  while  we  went  among  the  Indians.  Shaw  and 
I  stopped  our  horses  and  held  a  council,  and  in  an  evil  hour 
resolved  to  go. 

For  the  rest  of  that  day's  journey  our  course  and  that  of 
the  Indians  was  the  same.  In  less  than  an  hour  we  came 
to  where  the  high  barren  prairie  terminated,  sinking  down 
abruptly  in  steep  descent;  and  standing  on  these  heights, 


ILL  LUCK  185 

we  saw  below  us  a  great  level  meadow.  Laramie  Creek 
bounded  it  on  the  left,  sweeping  along  in  the  shadow  of  the 
declivities,  and  passing  with  its  shallow  and  rapid  current 
just  below  us.  We  sat  on  horseback,  waiting  and  looking 
on,  while  the  whole  savage  array  went  pouring  past  us, 
hurrying  down  the  descent  and  spreading  themselves  over 
the  meadow  below.  In  a  few  moments  the  plain  was  swarm- 
ing with  the  moving  multitude,  some  just  visible,  like  specks 
in  the  distance,  others  still  passing  on,  pressing  down,  and 
fording  the  stream  with  bustle  and  confusion.  On  the  edge 
of  the  heights  sat  half  a  dozen  of  the  elder  warriors,  gravely 
smoking  and  looking  down  with  unmoved  faces  on  the  wild 
and  striking  spectacle. 

Up  went  the  lodges  in  a  circle  on  the  margin  of  the 
stream.  For  the  sake  of  quiet  we  pitched  our  tent  among 
some  trees  at  half  a  mile's  distance.  In  the  afternoon  we 
were  in  the  village.  The  day  was  a  glorious  one,  and  the 
whole  camp  seemed  lively  and  animated  in  sympathy. 
Groups  of  children  and  young  girls  were  laughing  gayly  on 
the  outside  of  the  lodges.  The  shields,  the  lances,  and  the 
bows  were  removed  from  the  tall  tripods  on  which  they 
usually  hung  before  the  dwellings  of  their  owners.  The 
warriors  were  mounting  their  horses,  and  one  by  one  riding 
away  over  the  prairie  toward  the  neighboring  hills. 

Shaw  and  I  sat  on  the  grass  near  the  lodge  of  Reynal. 
An  old  woman,  with  true  Indian  hospitality,  brought  a  bowl 
of  boiled  venison  and  placed  it  before  us.  We  amused  our- 
selves with  watching  half  a  dozen  young  squaws  who  were 
playing  together  and  chasing  each  other  in  and  out  of  one 
of  the  lodges.  Suddenly  the  wild  yell  of  the  war-whoop 
came  pealing  from  the  hills.  A  crowd  of  horsemen  appeared, 
rushing  down  their  sides  and  riding  at  full  speed  toward  the 
village,  each  warrior's  long  hair  flying  behind  him  in  the 
wind  like  a  ship's  streamer.  As  they  approached,  the  con- 
fused throng  assumed  a  regular  order,  and  entering  two  by 


186  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

two,  they  circled  round  the  area  at  full  gallop,  each  warrior 
singing  his  war  song  as  he  rode.  Some  of  their  dresses  were 
splendid.  They  wore  superb  crests  of  feathers  and  close 
tunics  of  antelope  skins,  fringed  with  the  scalp-locks  of  their 
enemies ;  their  shields  too  were  often  fluttering  with  the  war 
eagle's  feathers.  All  had  bows  and  arrows  at  their  backs; 
some  carried  long  lances,  and  a  few  were  armed  with  guns. 
The  White  Shield,  their  partisan,  rode  in  gorgeous  attire 
at  their  head,  mounted  on  a  black-and-white  horse.  Mahto- 
Tatonka  and  his  brothers  took  no  part  in  this  parade,  for 
they  were  in  mourning  for  their  sister,  and  were  all  sitting 
in  their  lodges,  their  bodies  bedaubed  from  head  to  foot 
with  white  clay,  and  a  lock  of  hair  cut  from  each  of  their 
foreheads. 

The  warriors  circled  three  times  round  the  village;  and 
as  each  distinguished  champion  passed,  the  old  women  would 
scream  out  his  name  in  honor  of  his  bravery,  and  to  incite 
the  emulation  of  the  younger  warriors.  Little  urchins,  not 
two  years  old,  followed  the  warlike  pageant  with  glittering 
eyes,  and  looked  with  eager  wonder  and  admiration  at  those 
whose  honors  were  proclaimed  by  the  public  voice  of  the 
village.  Thus  early  is  the  lesson  of  war  instilled  into  the 
mind  of  an  Indian,  and  such  are  the  stimulants  which  excite 
his  thirst  for  martial  renown. 

The  procession  rode  out  of  the  village  as  it  had  entered 
lit,  and  in  half  an  hour  all  the  warriors  had  returned  again, 
dropping  quietly  in,  singly  or  in  parties  of  two  or  three. 

As  the  sun  rose  next  morning  we  looked  across  the 
meadow,  and  could  see  the  lodges  leveled  and  the  Indians 
gathering  together  in  preparation  to  leave  the  camp.  Their 
course  lay  to  the  westward.  We*  turned  toward  the  north 
with  our  three  men,  the  four  trappers  following  us,  with 
the  Indian  family  of  Moran.  We  traveled  until  night.  I 
suffered  not  a  little  from  pain  and  weakness.  We  encamped 
among  some  trees  by  the  side  of  a  little  brook,  and  here 


ILL  LUCK  187 

during  the  whole  of  the  next  day  we  lay  waiting  for  Bison- 
ette,  but  no  Bisonette  appeared.  Here  also  two  of  our  trap- 
per friends  left  us  and  set  out  for  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
On  the  second  morning,  despairing  of  Bisonette's  arrival, 
we  resumed  our  journey,  traversing  a  forlorn  and  dreary 
monotony  of  sun-scorched  plains,  where  no  living  thing 
appeared  save  here  and  there  an  antelope  flying  before  us 
like  the  wind.  When  noon  came  we  saw  an  unwonted  and 
most  welcome  sight;  a  rich  and  luxuriant  growth  of  trees, 
marking  the  course  of  a  little  stream  called  Horseshoe  Creek. 
We  turned  gladly  toward  it.  There  were  lofty  and  spread- 
ing trees,  standing  widely  asunder,  and  supporting  a  thick 
canopy  of  leaves  above  a  surface  of  rich,  tall  grass.  The 
stream  ran  swiftly,  as  clear  as  crystal,  through  the  bosom  of 
the  wood,  sparkling  over  its  bed  of  white  sand  and  darken- 
ing again  as  it  entered  a  deep  cavern  of  leaves  and  boughs. 
I  was  thoroughly  exhausted,  and  flung  myself  on  the  ground, 
scarcely  able  to  move.  All  that  afternoon  I  lay  in  the  shade 
by  the  side  of  the  stream,  and  those  bright  woods  and  spark- 
ling waters  are  associated  in  my  mind  with  recollections  of 
lassitude  and  utter  prostration.  When  night  came  I  sat 
down  by  the  fire,  longing,  with  an  intensity  of  which  at  this 
moment  I  can  hardly  conceive,  for  some  powerful  stimulant. 
In  the  morning  as  glorious  a  sun  rose  upon  us  as  ever 
animated  that  desolate  wilderness.  We  advanced  and  soon 
were  surrounded  by  tall  bare  hills,  overspread  from  top  to 
bottom  with  prickly-pears  and  other  cacti,  that  seemed  like 
clinging  reptiles.  A  plain,  flat  and  hard,  and  with  scarcely 
the  vestige  of  grass,  lay  before  us,  and  a  line  of  tall  mis- 
shapen trees  bounded  the  onward  view.  There  was  no  sight 
or  sound  of  man  or  beast  or  any  living  thing,  although 
behind  those  trees  was  the  long-looked-for  place  of  ren- 
dezvous, where  we  fondly  hoped  to  have  found  the  Indians 
congregated  by  thousands.  We  looked  and  listened  anx- 
iously. We  pushed  forward  with  our  best  speed,  and  forced 


188  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

our  horses  through  the  trees.  There  were  copses  of  some 
extent  beyond,  with  a  scanty  stream  creeping  through  their 
midst;  and  as  we  pressed  through  the  yielding  branches,  deer 
sprang  up  to  the  right  and  left.  At  length  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  prairie  beyond.  Soon  we  emerged  upon  it, 
and  saw,  not  a  plain  covered  with  encampments  and  swarm- 
ing with  life,  but  a  vast  unbroken  desert  stretching  away 
before  us  league  upon  league,  without  a  bush  or  a  tree  or 
anything  that  had  life.  We  drew  rein  and  gave  to  the  winds 
our  sentiments  concerning  the  whole  aboriginal  race  of  Amer- 
ica. Our  journey  wTas  in  vain  and  much  worse  than  in  vain. 
For  myself,  I  was  vexed  and  disappointed  beyond  measure ; 
as  I  well  knew  that  a  slight  aggravation  of  my  disorder 
would  render  this  false  step  irrevocable,  and  make  it  quite 
impossible  to  accomplish  effectually  the  design  which  had 
led  me  an  arduous  journey  of  between  three  and  four  thou- 
sand miles.  To  fortify  myself  as  well  as  I  could  against 
such  a  contingency,  I  resolved  that  I  would  not  under  any 
circumstances  attempt  to  leave  the  country  until  my  object 
was  completely  gained. 

And  where  were  the  Indians?  They  were  assembled  in 
great  numbers  at  a  spot  about  twenty  miles  distant,  and 
there  at  that  very  moment  they  were  engaged  in  their  war- 
like ceremonies.  The  scarcity  of  buffalo  in  the  vicinity  of 
La  Bonte's  camp,  which  would  render  their  supply  of  pro- 
visions scanty  and  precarious,  had  probably  prevented  them 
from  assembling  there ;  but  of  all  this  we  knew  nothing  until 
some  weeks  after. 

Shaw  lashed  his  horse  and  galloped  forward.  I,  though 
much  more  vexed  than  he,  was  not  strong  enough  to  adopt 
this  convenient  vent  to  my  feelings;  so  I  followed  at  a  quiet 
pace,  but  in  no  quiet  mood.  We  rode  up  to  a  solitary  old 
tree,  which  seemed  the  only  place  fit  for  encampment.  Half 
its  branches  were  dead,  and  the  rest  were  so  scantily  fiir- 
with  leaves  that  they  cast  but  a  meager  and  wretched 


ILL  LUCK  189 

shade,  and  the  old  twisted  trunk  alone  furnished  sufficient 
protection  from  the  sun.  We  threw  down  our  saddles  in  the 
strip  of  shadow  that  it  cast,  and  sat  down  upon  them.  In 
silent  indignation  we  remained  smoking  for  an  hour  or  more, 
shifting  our  saddles  with  the  shifting  shadow,  for  the  sun 
was  intolerably  hot. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

HUNTING     INDIANS 

At  last  we  had  reached  La  Bonte's  camp,  toward  which 
our  eyes  had  turned  so  long.  Of  all  weary  hours,  those  that 
passed  between  noon  and  sunset  of  the  day  when  we  arrived 
there  may  bear  away  the  palm  of  exquisite  discomfort.  I 
lay  under  the  tree  reflecting  on  what  course  to  pursue, 
watching  the  shadows  which  seemed  never  to  move  and  the 
sun  which  remained  fixed  in  the  sky,  and  hoping  every 
moment  to  see  the  men  and  horses  of  Bisonette  emerging 
from  the  woods.  Shaw  and  Henry  had  ridden  out  on  a 
scouting  expedition,  and  did  not  return  until  the  sun  was 
setting.  There  was  nothing  very  cheering  in  their  faces  nor 
in  the  news  they  brought. 

"We  have  been  ten  miles  from  here,"  said  Shaw.  "We 
climbed  the  highest  butte  we  could  find,  and  could  not  see 
a  buffalo  or  Indian;  nothing  but  prairie  for  twenty  miles 
around  us." 

Henry's  horse  was  quite  disabled  by  clambering  up  and 
down  the  sides  of  ravines,  and  Shaw's  was  severely  fatigued. 

After  supper  that  evening,  as  we  sat  around  the  fire,  I 
proposed  to  Shaw  to  wait  one  day  longer  in  hopes  of 
Bisonette's  arrival,  and  if  he  should  not  come  to  send  Des- 
lauriers  with  the  cart  and  baggage  back  to  Fort  Laramie, 
while  we  ourselves  followed  The  Whirlwind's  village  and 
attempted  to  overtake  it  as  it  passed  the  mountains.  Shaw, 
not  having  the  same  motive  for  hunting  Indians  that  I  had, 
was  averse  to  the  plan;  I  therefore  resolved  to  go  alone. 
This  design  I  adopted  very  unwillingly,  for  I  knew  that  in 
the  present  state  of  my  health  the  attempt  would  be  extremely 

190 


HUNTING  INDIANS  191 

unpleasant,  and,  as  I  considered,  hazardous.  I  hoped  that 
Bisonette  would  appear  in  the  course  of  the  following  day, 
and  bring  us  some  information  by  which  to  direct  our  course, 
and  enable  me  -to  accomplish  my  purpose  by  means  less 
objectionable. 

The  rifle  of  Henry  Chatillon  was  necessary  for  the  sub- 
sistence of  the  party  in  my  absence;  so  I  called  Raymond, 
and  ordered  him  to  prepare  to  set  out  with  me.  Raymond 
rolled  his  eyes  vacantly  about,  but  at  length,  having  suc- 
ceeded in  grappling  with  the  idea,  he  withdrew  to  his  bed 
under  the  cart.  He  was  a  heavy-molded  fellow,  with  a 
broad  face  exactly  like  an  owl's,  expressing  the  most  impene- 
trable stupidity  and  entire  self-confidence.  As  for  his  good 
qualities,  he  had  a  sort  of  stubborn  fidelity,  an  insensibility 
to  danger,  and  a  kind  of  instinct  or  sagacity  which  some- 
times led  him  right  where  better  heads  than  his  were  at 
a  loss.  Besides  this,  he  knew  very  well  how  to  handle  a 
rifle  and  picket  a  horse. 

Through  the  following  day  the  sun  glared  down  upon 
us  with  a  pitiless,  penetrating  heat.  The  distant  blue  prairie 
seemed  quivering  under  it.  The  lodge  of  our  Indian  asso- 
ciates was  baking  in  the  rays,  and  our  rifles,  as  they  leaned 
against  the  tree,  were  too  hot  for  the  touch.  There  was  a 
dead  silence  through  our  camp  and  all  around  it,  unbroken 
except  by  the  hum  of  gnats  and  mosquitoes.  The  men, 
resting  their  foreheads  on  their  arms,  were  sleeping  under 
the  cart.  The  Indians  kept  close  within  their  lodge,  except 
the  newly  married  pair,  who  were  seated  together  under  an 
awning  of  buffalo  robes,  and  the  old  conjurer,  who,  with 
his  hard,  emaciated  face  and  gaunt  ribs,  was  perched  aloft 
like  a  turkey-buzzard  among  the  dead  branches  of  an  old 
tree,  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  enemies.  He  would  have 
made  a  capital  shot.  A  rifle  bullet,  skillfully  planted,  would 
have  brought  him  tumbling  to  the  ground.  Surely,  I 
thought,  there  could  be  no  more  harm  in  shooting  such  a 


192  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

hideous  old  villain,  to  see  how  ugly  he  would  look  when 
he  was  dead,  than  in  shooting  the  detestable  vulture  which 
he  resembled.  We  dined,  and  then  Shaw  saddled  his  horse. 

"I  will  ride  back,"  said  he,  "to  Horseshoe  Creek,  and 
see  if  Bisonette  is  there." 

"I  would  go  with  you,"  I  answered,  "but  I  must  reserve 
all  the  strength  I  have." 

The  afternoon  dragged  away  at  last.  I  occupied  myself 
in  cleaning  my  rifle  and  pistols,  and  making  other  prepara- 
tions for  the  journey.  After  supper,,  Henry  Chatillon  and 
I  lay  by  the  fire,  discussing  the  properties  of  that  admirable 
weapon,  the  rifle,  in  the  use  of  which  he  could  fairjy  outrival 
Leatherstocking1  himself. 

It  was  late  before  I  wrapped  myself  in  my  blanket  and 
lay  down  for  the  night,  with  my  head  on  my  saddle.  Shaw 
had  not  returned,  but  this  gave  us  no  uneasiness,  for  we  pre- 
sumed that  he  had  fallen  in  with  Bisonette,  and  was  spend- 
ing the  night  with  him.  For  a  day  or  two  past  I  had  gained 
in  strength  and  health,  but  about  midnight  an  attack  of  pain 
awoke  me,  and  for  some  hours  I  felt  no  inclination  to  sleep. 
The  moon  was  quivering  on  the  broad  breast  of  the  Platte; 
nothing  could  be  heard  except  those  low  inexplicable  sounds, 
like  whisperings  and  footsteps,  which  no  one  who  has  spent 
the  night  alone  amid  deserts  and  forests  will  be  at  a  loss  to 
understand.  As  I  was  falling  asleep,  a  familiar  voice,  shout- 
ing from  the  distance, '  awoke  me  again.  A  rapid  step 
approached  the  camp,  and  Shaw  on  foot,  with  his  gun  in  his 
hand,  hastily  entered. 

"Where's  your  horse?"  said  I,  raising  myself  on  my 
elbow. 

"Lost!"  said  Shaw.     "Where's  Deslauriers ?" 

"There,"  I  replied,  pointing  to  a  confused  mass  of  blan- 
kets and  buffalo  robes. 

Pioneer  and  Indian  fighter,  the  central  character  in  James  Fenimore  Cooper'* 
Leatherstocking  Tales. 


HUNTING  INDIANS  193 

Shaw  touched  them  with  the  butt  of  his  gun,  and  up 
sprang  our  faithful  Canadian. 

"Come,  Deslauriers;  stir  up  the  fire,  and  get  me  some- 
thing to  eat." 

"Where's  Bisonette?"   asked   I. 

"The  Lord  knows;  there's  nobody  at  Horseshoe  Creek." 

Shaw  had  gone  back  to  the  spot  where  we  had  encamped 
two  days  before,  and  finding  nothing  there  but  the  ashes  of 
our  fires,  he  had  tied  his  horse  to  the  tree  while  he  bathed  in 
the  stream.  Something  startled  his  horse,  who  broke  loose, 
and  for  two  hours  Shaw  tried  in  vain  to  catch  him.  Sunset 
approached,  and  it  was  twelve  miles  to  camp.  So  he  aban- 
doned the  attempt,  and  set  out  on  foot  to  join  us.  The 
greater  part  of  his  perilous  and  solitary  work  was  performed 
in  darkness.  His  moccasins  were  worn  to  tatters  and  his 
feet  severely  lacerated.  He  sat  down  to  eat,  however,  with 
the  usual  equanimity  of  his  temper  not  at  all  disturbed  by 
his  misfortune,  and  my  last  recollection  before  falling  asleep 
was  of  Shaw,  seated  cross-legged  before  the  fire,  smoking  his 
pipe.  The  horse,  I .  may  as  well  mention  here,  was  found 
the  next  morning  by  Henry  Chatillon.  , 

When  I  awoke  again  there  was  a  fresh  damp  smell  in 
the  air,  a  gray  twilight  involved  the  prairie,  and  above  its 
eastern  verge  was  a  streak  of  cold  red  sky.  I  called  to  the 
men,  and  in  a  moment  a  fire  was  blazing  brightly  in  the 
dim  morning  light,  and  breakfast  was  getting  ready.  We 
sat  down  together  on  the  grass,  to  the  last  civilized  meal 
which  Raymond  and  I  were  destined  to  enjoy  for  some  time. 

"Now,  bring  in  the  horses. " 

My  little  mare  Pauline  was  soon  standing  by  the  fire. 
She  was  a  fleet,  hardy,  and  gentle  animal,  christened  after 
Paul  Dorion,  from  whom  I  had  procured  her  in  exchange 
for  Pontiac.  She  did  not  look  as  if  equipped  for  a  morning 
pleasure  ride.  In  front  of  the  black,  high-bowed  mountain 
saddle,  holsters,  with  heavy  pistols,  were  fastened.  A  pair 


194  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

of  saddle  bags,  a  blanket  tightly  rolled,  a  small  parcel  of 
Indian  presents  tied  up  in  a  buffalo  skin,  a  leather  bag  of  flour, 
and  a  smaller  one  of  tea  were  all  secured  behind,  and  a  long 
trail-rope  was  wound  round  her  neck.  Raymond  had  a 
strong  black  mule,  equipped  in  a  similar  manner.  We 
crammed  our  powder-horns  to  the  throat,  and  mounted. 

"I  will  meet  you  at  Fort  Laramie  on  the  first  of  August/' 
said  I  to  Shaw. 

"That  is,"  replied  he,  "if  we  don't  meet  before  that.  I 
think  I  shall  follow  after  you  in  a  day  or  two." 

This  in  fact  he  attempted,  and  he  would  have  succeeded 
if  he  had  not  encountered  obstacles  against  which  his  reso- 
lute spirit  was  of  no  avail.  Two  days  after  I  left  him  he 
sent  Deslauriers  to  the  fort  with  the  cart  and  baggage,  and 
set  out  for  the  mountains  with  Henry  Chatillon;  but  a  tre- 
mendous thunderstorm  had  deluged  the  prairie,  and  nearly 
obliterated  not  only  our  trail  but  that  of  the  Indians  them- 
selves. They  followed  along  the  base  of  the  mountains,  at 
a  loss  in  which  direction  to  go.  They  encamped  there,  and 
in  the  morning  Shaw  found  himself  poisoned  by  ivy  in  such 
a  manner  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  travel.  So  they 
turned  back  reluctantly  toward  Fort  Laramie.  Shaw's 
limbs  were  swollen  to  double  their  usual  size,  and  he  rode 
in  great  pain.  They  encamped  again  within  twenty  miles 
of  the  fort,  and  reached  it  early  on  the  following  morning. 
Shaw  lay  seriously  ill  for  a  week,  and  remained  at  the  fort 
till  I  rejoined  him  some  time  after. 

To  return  to  my  own  story.  We  shook  hands  with  our 
friends,  rode  out  upon  the  prairie,  and  clambering  the  sandy 
hollows  that  were  channeled  in  the  sides  of  the  hills,  gained 
the  high  plains  above.  If  a  curse  had  been  pronounced 
upon  the  land,  it  could  not  have  worn  an  aspect  of  more 
dreary  and  forlorn  barrenness.  There  were  abrupt  broken 
hills,  deep  hollows,  and  wide  plains;  but  all  alike  glared 
with  an  insupportable  whiteness  under  the  burning  sun. 


HUNTING  INDIANS  195 

The  country,  as  if  parched  by  the  heat,  had  cracked  into 
innumerable  fissures  and  ravines  that  not  a  little  impeded  f 
our  progress.  Their  steep  sides  were  white  and  raw,  and 
along  the  bottom  we  several  times  discovered  the  broad  tracks 
of  the  terrific  grizzly  bear,  nowhere  more  abundant  than  in 
this  region.  The  ridges  of  the  hills  were  hard  as  rock,  and 
strewn  with  pebbles  of  flint  and  coarse  red  jasper;  looking 
from  them,  there  was  nothing  to  relieve  the  desert  uniformity 
of  the  prospect,  save  here  and  there  a  pine-tree  clinging  at 
the  edge  of  a  ravine,  and  stretching  over  its  rough,  shaggy 
arms.  Under  the  scorching  heat  these  melancholy  trees  dif- 
fused their  peculiar  resinous  odor  through  the  sultry  air. 
There  was  something  in  it,  as  I  approached  them,  that  re- 
called old  associations;  the  pine-clad  mountains  of  New 
England,  traversed  in  days  of  health  and  buoyancy,  rose  like 
a  reality  before  my  fancy.  In  passing  that  arid  waste  I  was 
goaded  with  a  morbid  thirst  produced  by  my  disorder,  and 
I  thought  with  a  longing  desire  on  the  crystal  treasure  poured 
in  such  wasteful  profusion  from  our  thousand  hills.  Shut- 
ting my  eyes,  I  more  than  half  believed  that  I  heard  the  deep 
plunging  and  gurgling  of  waters  in  the  bowels  of  the  shaded 
rocks.  I  could  see  their  dark  icy  glittering  far  down  amid 
the  crevices,  and  the  cold  drops  trickling  from  the  long  green 
mosses. 

When  noon  came,  we  found  a  little  stream,  with  a  few 
trees  and  bushes;  and  here  we  rested  for  an  hour.  Then 
we  traveled  on,  guided  by  the  sun,  until,  just  before  sunset, 
we  reached  another  stream  called  Bitter  Cottonwood  Creek.1 
A  thick  growth  of  bushes  and  old  storm-beaten  trees  grew 
at  intervals  along  its  bank.  Near  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
trees  we  flung  down  our  saddles,  and  hobbling  our  horses 
turned  them  loose  to  feed.  The  little  stream  was  clear  and 
swift,  and  ran  musically  on  its  white  sands.  Small  water 
birds  were  splashing  in  the  shallows,  and  filling  the  air  with 

rCottonwood  Creek,  Wyoming. 


196  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

their  cries  and  flutterings.  The  sun  was  just  sinking  among 
gold  and  crimson  clouds  behind  Mount  Laramie.1  I  well 
remember  how  I  lay  upon  a  log  by  the  margin  of  the  water, 
and  watched  the  restless  motions  of  the  little  fish  in  a 
deep  still  nook  below.  Strange  to  say,  I  seemed  to  have 
gained  strength  since  the  morning,  and  almost  felt  a  sense 
of  returning  health. 

We  built  our  fire.  Night  came,  and  the  wolves  began 
to  howl.  One  deep  voice  commenced,  and  it  was  answered 
in  awful  responses  from  the  hills,  the  plains,  and  the  woods 
along  the  stream  above  and  below  us.  Such  sounds  need  not 
and  do  not  disturb  one's  sleep  upon  the  prairie.  We  pick- 
eted the  mare  and  the  mule  close  at  our  feet,  and  did  not 
awake  until  daylight.  Then  we  turned  them  loose,  still 
hobbled,  to  feed  for  an  hour  before  starting.  We  were  get- 
ting ready  for  our  morning's  meal,  when  Raymond  saw  an 
antelope  at  half  a  mile's  distance,  and  said  he  would  go  and 
shoot  it. 

"Your  business,"  said  I,  "is  to  look  after  the  animals. 
I  am  too  weak  to  do  much  if  anything  happens  to  them, 
and  you  must  keep  within  sight  of  the  camp." 

Raymond  promised,  and  set  out  with  his  rifle  in  his  hand. 
The  animals  had  passed  across  the  stream,  and  were  feed- 
ing among  the  long  grass  on  the  other  side,  much  tormented 
by  the  attacks  of  the  numerous  large  green-headed  flies.  As 
I  watched  them,  I  saw  them  go  down  into  a  hollow,  and  as 
several  minutes  elapsed  without  their  reappearing,  I  waded 
through  the  stream  to  look  after  them.  To  my  vexation  and 
alarm  I  discovered  them  at  a  great  distance,  galloping  away 
at  full  speed,  Pauline  in  advance,  with  her  hobbles  broken 
and  the  mule,  still  fettered,  following  with  awkward  leaps. 
I  fired  my  rifle  and  shouted  to  recall  Raymond.  In  a  moment 
he  came  running  through  the  stream,  with  a  red  handker- 

1Laramie  Peak,  Wyoming,  the  first  mountain  landmark  seen  by  emigrants  on 
the  Oregon  trail. 


HUNTING  INDIANS  197 

chief  bound  round  his  head.  I  pointed  to  the  fugitives,  and 
ordered  him  to  pursue  them.  Muttering  a  "&acref*  between 
his  teeth,  he  set  out  at  full  speed,  still  swinging  his  rifle  in  his 
hand.  I  walked  up  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  looking  away 
over  the  prairie,  could  just  distinguish  the  runaways,  still  at 
full  gallop.  Returning  to  the  fire,  I  sat  down  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree.  Wearily  and  anxiously  hour  after  hour  passed 
away.  The  old  loose  bark  dangling  from  the  .trunk  behind 
me  flapped  to  and  fro  in  the  wind,  and  the  mosquitoes  kept 
up  their  incessant  drowsy  humming;  but  other  than  this, 
there  was  no  sight  nor  sound  of  life  throughout  the  burning 
landscape.  The  sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  until  the  shadows 
fell  almost  perpendicularly,  and  I  knew  that  it  must  be  noon. 
It  seemed  scarcely  possible  that  the  animals  could  be  recov- 
ered. If  they  were  not,  my  situation  was  one  of  serious 
difficulty.  Shaw,  when  I  left  him,  had  decided  to  move 
that  morning,  but  whither  he  had  not  determined.  To  look 
for  him  would  be  a  vain  attempt.  Fort  Laramie  was  forty 
miles  distant,  and  I  could  not  walk  a  mile  without  great 
effort.  Not  then  having  learned  the  sound  philosophy  of 
yielding  to  disproportionate  obstacles,  I  resolved  to  continue 
in  any  event  the  pursuit  of  the  Indians.  Only  one  plan 
occurred  to  me ;  this  was  to  send  Raymond  to  the  fort  with 
an  order  for  more  horses,  while  I  remained  on  the  spot, 
awaiting  his  return,  which  might  take  place  within  three 
days.  But  the  adoption  of  this  resolution  did  not  wholly 
allay  my  anxiety,  for  it  involved  both  uncertainty  and  danger. 
To  remain  stationary  and  alone  for  three  days,  in  a  country 
full  of  dangerous  Indians,  was  not  the  most  flattering  of 
prospects ;  and  protracted  as  my  Indian  hunt  must  be  by  such 
delay,  it  was  not  easy  to  foretell  its  ultimate  result.  Revolv- 
ing these  matters,  I  grew  hungry;  and  as  our  stock  of  pro- 
visions, except  four  or  five  pounds  of  flour,  was  by  this  time 
exhausted,  I  left  the  camp  to  see  what  game  I  could  find. 
Nothing  could  be  seen  except  four  or  five  large  curlew,  which, 


198  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

with  their  loud  screaming,  were  wheeling  over  my  head  and 
now  and  then  alighting  upon  the  prairie.  I  shot  two  of  them, 
and  was  about  returning,  when  a  startling  sight  caught  my 
eye.  A  small,  dark  object,  like  a  human  head,  suddenly 
appeared,  and  vanished  among  the  thick  bushes  along  the 
stream  below.  In  that  country  every  stranger  is  a  suspected 
enemy.  Instinctively  I  threw  forward  the  muzzle  of  my 
rifle.  In  a  moment  the  bushes  were  violently  shaken,  two 
heads,  but  not  human  heads,  protruded,  and  to  my  great  joy 
I  recognized  the  downcast,  disconsolate  countenance  of  the 
black  mule  and  the  yellow  visage  of  Pauline.  Raymond  came 
upon  the  mule,  pale  and  haggard,  complaining  of  a  fiery  pain 
in  his  chest.  I  took  charge  of  the  animals  while  he  kneeled 
down  by  the  side  of  the  stream  to  drink.  He  had  kept  the 
runaways  in  sight  as  far  as  the  Side  Fork  of  Laramie  Creek, 
a  distance  of  more  than  ten  miles;  and  here  with  great  diffi- 
culty he  had  succeeded  in  catching  them.  I  saw  that  he  was 
unarmed,  and  asked  him  what  he  had  done  with  his  rifle.  It 
had  incumbered  him  in  his  pursuit,  and  he  had  dropped  it  on 
the  prairie,  thinking  that  he  could  find  it  on  his  return;  but 
in  this  he  had  failed.  The  loss  might  prove  a  very  formidable 
one.  I  was  too  much  rejoiced  however  at  the  recovery  of  the 
animals  to  think  much  about  it;  and  having  made  some  tea 
for  Raymond  in  a  tin  vessel  which  we  had  brought  with  us,  I 
told  him  that  I  would  give  him  two  hours  for  resting  before 
we  set  out  again.  He  had  eaten  nothing  that  day;  but  having 
no  appetite,  he  lay  down  immediately  to  sleep.  I  picketed  the 
animals  among  the  richest  grass  that  I  could  find,  and  made 
fires  of  green  wood  to  protect  them  from  the  flies ;  then  sitting 
down  again  by  the  tree,  I  watched  the  slow  movements  of  the 
sun,  begrudging  every  moment  that  passed. 

The  time  I  had  mentioned  expired,  and  I  awoke  Ray- 
mond. We  saddled  and  set  out  again,  but  first  we  went  in 
search  of  the  lost  rifle,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  Raymond 
was  fortunate  enough  to  find  it.  Then  we  turned  westward, 


HUNTING  INDIANS  199 

and  moved  over  the  hills  and  hollows  at  a  slow  pace  toward 
the  Black  Hills.  The  heat  no  longer  tormented  us,  for  a 
cloud  was  before  the  sun.  Yet  that  day  shall  never  be 
marked  with  white  in  my  calendar.  The  air  began  to  grow 
fresh  and  cool,  the  distant  mountains  frowned  more  gloomily, 
there  was  a  low  muttering  of  thunder,  and  dense  black 
masses  of  cloud  rose  heavily  behind  the  broken  peaks.  At 
first  they  were  gayly  fringed  with  silver  by  the  <  afternoon 
sun,  but  soon  the  thick  blackness  overspread  the  whole  sky, 
and  the  desert  around  us  was  wrapped  in  deep  gloom.  I 
scarcely  heeded  it  at  the  time,  but  now  I  cannot  but  feel 
that  there  was  an  awful  sublimity  in  the  hoarse  murmuring 
of  the  thunder,  in  the  somber  shadows  that  involved  the 
mountains  and  the  plain.  The  storm  broke.  It  came  upon 
us  with  a  zigzag  blinding  flash,  with  a  terrific  crash  of  thun- 
der, and  with  a  hurricane  that  howled  over  the  prairie,  dash- 
ing floods  of  water  against  us.  Raymond  looked  round  and 
cursed  the  merciless  elements.  There  seemed  no  shelter  near, 
but  we  discerned  at  length  a  deep  ravine  gashed  in  the  level 
prairie,  and  saw  half  way  down  its  side  an  old  pine  tree, 
whose  rough  horizontal  boughs  formed  a  sort  of  penthouse 
against  the  tempest.  We  found  a  practicable  passage,  and 
hastily  descending,  fastened  our  animals  to  some  large  loose 
stones  at  the  bottom ;  then  climbing  up,  we  drew  our  blankets 
over  our  heads,  and  seated  ourselves  close  beneath  the  old 
tree.  Perhaps  I  was  no  competent  judge  of  time,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  that  we  were  sitting  there  a  full  hour,  while 
around  us  poured  a  deluge  of  rain,  through  which  the  rocks 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  gulf  were  barely  visible.  The 
first  burst  of  the  tempest  soon  subsided,  but  the  rain  poured 
steadily.  At  length  Raymond  grew  impatient,  and  scrambling 
out  of  the  ravine,  he  gained  the  level  prairie  above. 

"What  does  the  weather  look  like?"  asked  I,  from  my 
seat  under  the  tree. 


200  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

"It  looks  bad,"  he  answered;  "dark  all  around,"  and  again 
he  descended  and  sat  down  by  my  side.  Some  ten  minutes 
elapsed. 

"Go  up  again,"  said  I,  "and  take  another  look;"  and  he 
clambered  up  the  precipice.  "Well,  how  is  it?" 

"Just  the  same,  only  I  see  one  little  bright  spot  over  the 
top  of  the  mountain." 

The  rain  by  this  time  had  begun  to  abate ;  and  going  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  we  loosened  the  animals,  who 
were  standing  up  to  their  knees  in  water.  Leading  them  up 
the  rocky  throat  of  the  ravine,  we  reached  the  plane  above. 
"Am  I,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "the  same  man  who  a  few 
months  since  was  seated,  a  quiet  student  of  belles-lettres,  in  a 
cushioned  arm-chair  by  a  sea-coal  fire  ?" 

All  around  us  was  obscurity ;  but  the  bright  spot  above  the 
mountain-tops  grew  wider  and  ruddier,  until  at  length  the 
clouds  drew  apart,  and  a  flood  of  sunbeams  poured  down  from 
heaven,  streaming  along  the  precipices,  and  involving  them  in 
a  thin  blue  haze  as  soft  and  lovely  as  that  which  wraps  the 
Apennines  on  an  evening  in  spring.  Rapidly  the  clouds  were 
broken  and  scattered,  like  routed  legions  of  evil  spirits.  The 
:>lain  lay  basking  in  sunbeams  around  us ;  a  rainbow  arched  the 
desert  from  north  to  south,  and  far  in  front  a  line  of  woods 
seemed  inviting  us  to  refreshment  and  repose.  When  we 
reached  them,  they  were  glistening  with  prismatic  dewdrops, 
and  enlivened  by  the  song  and  flutterings  of  a  hundred  birds. 
Strange  winged  insects,  benumbed  by  the  rain,  were  clinging 
to  the  leaves  and  the  bark  of  the  trees. 

Raymond  kindled  a  fire  with  great  difficulty.  The  ani- 
mals turned  eagerly  to  feed  on  the  soft  rich  grass,  while  I, 
wrapping  myself  in  my  blanket,  lay  down  and  gazed  on  the 
evening  landscape.  The  mountains,  whose  stern  features 
had  lowered  upon  us  with  so  gloomy  and  awful  a  frown, 
now  seemed  lighted  up  with  a  serene,  benignant  smile,  and 
the  green  waving  undulations  of  the  plain  were  gladdened 


HUNTING  INDIANS  201 

with  the  rich  sunshine.  Wet,  ill,  and  wearied  as  I  was,  my 
spirit  grew  lighter  at  the  view,  and  I  drew  from  it  an  augury 
of  good  for  my  future  prospects. 

When  morning  came,  Raymond  awoke,  coughing  vio- 
lently, though  I  had  apparently  received  no  injury.  We 
mounted,  crossed  the  little  stream,  pushed  through  the  trees, 
and  began  our  journey  over  the  plain  beyond.  And  now,  as 
we  rode  slowly  along,  we  looked  anxiously  on  every  hand  for 
traces  of  the  Indians,  not  doubting  that  the  village  had 
passed  somewhere  in  that  vicinity;  but  the  scanty  shriveled 
grass  was  not  more  than  three  or  four  inches  high,  and  the 
ground  was  of  such  unyielding  hardness  that  a  host  might 
have  marched  over  it  and  left  scarcely  a  trace  of  its  passage. 
Up  hill  and  down  hill,  and  clambering  through  ravines,  we 
continued  our  journey.  As  we  were  skirting  the  foot  of  a 
hill  I  saw  Raymond,  who  was  some  rods  in  advance,  suddenly 
jerking  the  reins  of  his  mule.  Sliding  from  his  seat,  and  run- 
ning in  a  crouching  posture  up  a  hollow,  he  disappeared ;  and 
then  in  an  instant  I  heard  a  sharp  quick  crack  of  his  rifle.  A 
wounded  antelope  came  running  on  three  legs  over  the  hill. 
I  lashed  Pauline  and  made  after  him.  My  fleet  little  mare 
soon  brought  me  by  his  side,  and  after  leaping  and  bounding 
for  a  few  moments  in  vain,  he  stood  still,  as  if  despairing  of 
escape.  His  glistening  eyes  turned  up  toward  my  face  with 
so  piteous  a  look  that  it  was  with  feelings  of  infinite  com- 
punction that  I  shot  him  through  the  head  with  a  pistol. 
Raymond  skinned  and  cut  him  up,  and  we  hung  the  fore- 
quarters  to  our  saddles,  much  rejoiced  that  our  exhausted 
stock  of  provisions  was  renewed  in  such  good  time. 

Gaining  the  top  of  the  hill,  we  could  see  along  the  cloudy 
verge  of  the  prairie  before  us  lines  of  trees  and  shadowy 
groves  that  marked  the  course  of  Laramie  Creek.  Some  time 
before  noon  we  reached  its  banks  and  began  anxiously  to 
search  them  for  footprints  of  the  Indians.  We  followed  the 
stream  for  several  miles,  now  on  the  shore  and  now  wading 


202  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

in  the  water,  scrutinizing  every  sand-bar  and  every  muddy 
bank.  So  long  was  the  search  that  we  began  to  fear  that  we 
had  left  the  trail  undiscovered  behind  us.  At  length  I  heard 
Raymond  shouting,  and  saw  him  jump  from  his  mule  to 
examine  some  object  under  the  shelving  bank.  I  rode  up  to 
his  side.  It  was  the  clear  and  palpable  impression  of  an 
Indian  moccasin.  Encouraged  by  this  we  continued  our 
search,  and  at  last  some  appearances  on  a  soft  surface  of  earth 
not  far  from  the  shore  attracted  my  eye;  and  going  to  exam- 
ine them  I  found  half  a  dozen  tracks,  some  made  by  men 
and  some  by  children.  Just  then  Raymond  observed  across 
the  stream  the  mouth  of  a  small  branch  entering  it  from  the 
south.  He  forded  the  water,  rode  in  at  the  opening,  and  in 
a  moment  I  heard  him  shouting  again,  so  I  passed  over  and 
joined  him.  The  little  branch  had  a  broad  sandy  bed,  along 
which  the  water  trickled  in  a  scanty  stream;  and  on  either 
bank  the  bushes  were  so  close  that  the  view  was  completely 
intercepted.  I  found  Raymond  stooping  over  the  footprints 
of  three  or  four  horses.  Proceeding  we  found  those  of  a 
man,  then  those  of  a  child,  then  those  of  more  horses;  and 
at  last  the  bushes  on  each  bank  were  beaten  down  and 
broken,  and  the  sand  plowed  up  with  a  multitude  of  footsteps, 
and  scored  across  with  the  furrows  made  by  the  lodge-poles 
that  had  been  dragged  through.  It  was  now  certain  that  we 
had  found  the  trail.  I  pushed  through  the  bushes,  and  at  a 
little  distance  on  the  prairie  beyond  found  the  ashes  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  lodge  fires,  with  bones  and  pieces  of  buffalo 
robes  scattered  around  them,  and  in  some  instances  the  pick- 
ets to .  which  horses  had  been  secured  still  standing  in  the 
ground.  Elated  by  our  success  we  selected  a  convenient  tree, 
and  turning  the  animals  loose,  prepared  to  make  a  meal  from 
the  fat  haunch  of  our  victim. 

Hardship  and  exposure  had  thriven  with  me  wonderfully. 
I  had  gained  both  health  and  strength  since  leaving  La  Bonte's 
camp.  Raymond  and  I  made  a  hearty  meal  together  in  high 


HUNTING  INDIANS  203 

spirits,  for  we  rashly  presumed  that  having  found  one  end  of 
the  trail  we  should  have  little  difficulty  in  reaching  the  other. 
But  when  the  animals  were  led  in  we  found  that  our  old  ill 
luck  had  not  ceased  to  follow  us  close.  As  I  was  saddling 
Pauline  I  saw  that  her  eye  was  as  dull  as  lead,  and  the  hue  of 
her  yellow  coat  visibly  darkened.  I  placed  my  foot  in  the 
stirrup  to  mount,  when  instantly  she  staggered  and  fell  flat 
on  her  side.  Gaining  her  feet  with  an  effort  she  stood  by  the 
fire  with  a  drooping  head.  Whether  she  had  been  bitten  by  a 
snake  or  poisoned  by  some  noxious  plant  or  attacked  by  a 
sudden  disorder,  it  was  hard  to  say ;  but  at  all  events  her  sick- 
ness was  sufficiently  ill-timed  and  unfortunate.  I  succeeded 
in  a  second  attempt  to  mount  her,  and  with  a  slow  pace  we 
moved  forward  on  the  trail  of  the  Indians.  It  led  us  up  a 
hill  and  over  a  dreary  plain;  and  here,  to  our  great  mortifi- 
cation, the  traces  almost  disappeared,  for  the  ground  was  hard 
as  adamant;  and  if  its  flinty  surface  had  ever  retained  the 
dint  of  a  hoof,  the  marks  had  been  washed  away  by  the  deluge 
of  yesterday.  An  Indian  village,  in  its  disorderly  march,  is 
scattered  over  the  prairie  often  to  the  width  of  full  half  a 
mile,  so  that  its  trail  is  nowhere  clearly  marked,  and  the  task 
of  following  it  is  made  doubly  wearisome  and  difficult.  By 
good  fortune  plenty  of  large  ant-hills,  a  yard  or  more  in 
diameter,  were  scattered  over  the  plain,  and  these  were  fre- 
quently broken  by  the  footprints  of  men  and  horses,  and 
marked  by  traces  of  the  lodge-poles.  The  succulent  leaves  of 
the  prickly-pear,  also  bruised  from  the  same  causes,  helped  a 
little  to  guide  us;  so  inch  by  inch  we  moved  along.  Often 
we  lost  the  trail  altogether,  and  then  would  recover  it  again, 
but  late  in  the  afternoon  we  found  ourselves  totally  at  fault. 
We  stood  alone  without  a  clew  to  guide  us.  The  broken 
plain  expanded  for  league  after  league  around  us,  and  in 
front  the  long  dark  ridge  of  mountains  was  stretching  from 
north  to  south.  Mount  Laramie,  a  little  on  our  right, 
towered  high  above  the  rest,  and  from  a  dark  valley  just 


204  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

beyond  one  of  its  lower  declivities  we  discerned  volumes  of 
white  smoke  slowly  rolling  up  into  the  clear  air. 

"I  think,"  said  Raymond,  "some  Indians  must  be  there. 
Perhaps  we  had  better  go."  But  this  plan  was  not  rashly  to 
be  adopted,  and  we  determined  still  to  continue  our  search 
after  the  lost  trail.  Our  good  stars  prompted  us  to  this  deci- 
sion, for  we  afterward  had  reason  to  believe,  from  informa- 
tion given  us  by  the  Indians,  that  the  smoke  was  raised  as  a 
decoy  by  a  Crow  war  party. 

Evening  was  coming  on,  and  there  was  no  wood  or  water 
nearer  than  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  So  thither  we  turned, 
directing  our  course  toward  the  point  where  Laramie  Creek 
issues  forth  upon  the  prairie.  When  we  reached  it  the  bare 
tops  of  the  mountains  were  still  brightened  with  sunshine.  The 
little  river  was  breaking  with  a  vehement  and  angry  current 
from  its  dark  prison.  There  was  something  in  the  near  vicin- 
ity of  the  mountains,  in  the  loud  surging  of  the  rapids,  wonder- 
fully cheering  and  exhilarating ;  for  although  once  as  familiar 
as  home  itself,  they  had  been  for  months  strangers  to  my 
experience.  There  was  a  rich  grass-plot  by  the  river's  bank, 
surrounded  by  low  ridges,  which  would  effectually  screen  our- 
selves and  our  fire  from  the  sight  of  wandering  Indians. 
Here  among  the  grass  I  observed  numerous  circles  of  large 
stones,  which,  as  Raymond  said,  were  traces  of  a  Dakota  win- 
ter encampment.  We  lay  down  and  did  not  awake  till  the  sun 
was  up.  A  large  rock  projected  from  the  shore,  and  behind 
it  the  deep  water  was  slowly  eddying  round  and  round.  The 
temptation  was  irresistible.  I  threw  off  my  clothes,  leaped  in, 
suffered  myself  to  be  borne  once  round  with  the  current,  and 
then,  seizing  the  strong  root  of  a  water-plant,  drew  myself 
to  the  shore.  The  effect  was  so  invigorating  and  refreshing 
that  I  mistook  it  for  returning  health.  "Pauline,"  thought  I, 
as  I  led  the  little  mare  up  to  be  saddled,  "only  thrive  as  I  do, 
and  you  and  I  will  have  sport  yet  among  the  buffalo  beyond 
these  mountains."  But  scarcely  were  we  mounted  and  on  our 


HUNTING  INDIANS  205 

way  before  the  momentary  glow  passed.  Again  I  hung  as  usual 
in  my  seat,  scarcely  able  to  hold  myself  erect. 

"Look  yonder,"  said  Raymond ;  "you  see  that  big  hollow 
there;  the  Indians  must  have  gone  that  way,  if  they  went 
anywhere  about  here." 

We  reached  the  gap,  which  was  like  a  deep  notch  cut  into 
the  mountain  ridge,  and  here  we  soon  discerned  an  ant-hill 
furrowed  with  the  mark  of  a  lodge-pole.  This  was  quite 
enough;  there  could  be  no  doubt  now.  As  we  rode  on,  the 
opening  growing  narrower,  the  Indians  had  been  compelled 
to  march  in  closer  order,  and  the  traces  became  numerous 
and  distinct.  The  gap  terminated  in  a  rocky  gateway,  lead- 
ing into  a  rough  passage  upward  between  two  percipitous 
mountains.  Here  grass  and  weeds  were  bruised  to  fragments 
by  the  throng  that  had  passed  through.  We  moved  slowly 
over  the  rocks,  up  the  passage;  and  in  this  toilsome  manner 
we  advanced  for  an  hour  or  two,  bare  precipices,  hundreds  of 
feet  high,  shooting  up  on  either  hand.  Raymond,  with  his 
hardy  mule,  was  a  few  rods  before  me,  when  we  came  to  the 
foot  of  an  ascent  steeper  than  the  rest,  and  which  I  trusted 
might  prove  the  highest  point  of  the  defile.  Pauline  strained 
upward  for  a  few  yards,  moaning  and  stumbling,  and  then 
came  to  a  dead  stop,  unable  to  proceed  further.  I  dis- 
mounted, and  attempted  to  lead  her ;  but  my  own  exhausted 
strength  soon  gave  out;  so  I  loosened  the  trail-rope  from  her 
neck,  and  tying  it  round  my  arm,  crawled  up  on  my  hands 
and  knees.  I  gained  the  top,  totally  exhausted,  the  sweat 
drops  trickling  from  my  forehead.  Pauline  stood  like  a 
statue  by  my  side,  her  shadow  falling  upon  the  scorching 
rock;  and  in  this  shade,  for  there  was  no  other,  I  lay  for 
some  time,  scarcely  able  to  move  a  limb.  All  around  the 
black  crags,  sharp  as  needles  at  the  top,  stood  glowing  in  the 
sun,  without  a  tree,  or  a  bush,  or  a  blade  of  grass,  to  cover 
their  precipitous  sides.  The  whole  scene  seemed  parched 
with  a  pitiless,  insufferable  heat. 


206  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

After  a  while  I  could  mount  again,  and  we  moved  on, 
descending  the  rocky  defile  on  its  western  side.  Thinking 
of  that  morning's  journey,  it  has  sometimes  seemed  to  me 
that  there  was  something  ridiculous  in  my  position:  a  man, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  but  wholly  unable  to  fight  and  equally 
so  to  run  away,  traversing  a  dangerous  wilderness  on  a  sick 
horse.  But  these  thoughts  were  retrospective,  for  at  the 
time  I  was  in  too  grave  a  mood  to  entertain  a  very  lively 
sense  of  the  ludicrous. 

Raymond's  saddle-girth  slipped,  and  while  I  proceeded  he 
was  stopping  behind  to  repair  the  mischief.  I  came  to  the 
top  of  a  little  declivity,  where  a  most  welcome  sight  greeted 
my  eye ;  a  nook  of  fresh  green  grass  nestled  among  the  cliffs, 
sunny  clumps  of  bushes  on  one  side,  and  shaggy  old  pine  trees 
leaning  forward  from  the  rocks  on  the  other.  A  shrill,  famil- 
iar voice  saluted  me,  and  recalled  me  to  days  of  boyhood : 
that  of  the  insect  called  the  "locust"  by  New  England  school- 
boys, which  was  fast  clinging  among  the  heated  boughs  of 
the  old  pine  trees.  Then,  too,  as  I  passed  the  bushes,  the  low 
sound  of  falling  water  reached  my  ear.  Pauline  turned  of 
her  own  accord,  and  pushing  through  the  boughs  we  found 
a  black  rock,  overarched  by  the  cool  green  canopy.  An  icy 
stream  was  pouring  from  its  side  into  a  wide  basin  of  white 
sand,  from  whence  it  had  no  visible  outlet,  but  filtered 
through  into  the  soil  below.  While  I  filled  a  tin  cup  at  the 
spring,  Pauline  was  eagerly  plunging  her  head  deep  in  the 
pool..  Other  visitors  had  been  there  before  us.  All  around 
in  the  soft  soil  were  the  footprints  of  elk,  deer,  and  the  Rocky 
Mountain  sheep ;  and  the  grizzly-bear  too  had  left  the  recent 
prints  of  his  broad  foot,  with  its  frightful  array  of  claws. 
Among  these  mountains  was  his  home. 

Soon  after  leaving  the  spring  we  found  a  little  grassy 
plain,  encircled  by  the  mountains,  and  marked,  to  our  great 
joy,  with  all  the  traces  of  an  Indian  camp.  Raymond's  prac- 
ticed eye  detected  certain  signs  by  which  he  recognized  the 


HUNTING  INDIANS  207 

spot  where  Reynal's  lodge  had  been  pitched  and  his  horses 
picketed.  I  approached,  and  stood  looking  at  the  place. 
Reynal  and  I  had,  I  believe,  hardly  a  feeling  in  common.  I 
disliked  the  fellow,  and  it  perplexed  me  a  good  deal  to  under- 
stand why  I  should  look  with  so  much  interest  on  the  ashes 
of  his  fire,  when  between  him  and  me  there  seemed  no  other 
bond  of  sympathy  than  the  slender  and  precarious  one  of  a 
kindred  race. 

In  half  an  hour  from  this  we  were  clear  of  the  moun- 
tains. There  was  a  plain  before  us,  totally  barren  and 
thickly  peopled  in  many  parts  writh  the  little  prairie  dogs, 
who  sat  at  the  mouths  of  their  burrows  and  yelped  at  us 
as  we  passed.  The  plain,  as  we  thought,  was  about  six  miles 
wide;  but  it  cost  us  two  hours  to  cross  it.  Then  another 
mountain  range  rose  before  us,  grander  and  more  wild  than 
the  -last  had  been.  Far  out  of  the  dense  shrubbery  that 
clothed  the  steeps  for  a  thousand  feet  shot  up  black  crags, 
all  leaning  one  way,  and  shattered  by  storms  and  thunder 
into  grim  and  threatening  shapes.  As  we  entered  a  narrow 
passage  on  the  trail  of  the  Indians,  they  impended  frightfully 
on  one  side  above  our  heads. 

Our  course  was  through  dense  woods,  in  the  shade  and 
twinkling  sunlight  of  overhanging  boughs.  I  would  I  could 
recall  to  mind  all  the  startling  combinations  that  presented 
themselves,  as  winding  from  side  to  side  of  the  passage,  to 
avoid  its  obstructions,  we  could  see,  glancing  at  intervals 
through  the  foliage,  the  awful  forms  of  the  gigantic  cliffs, 
that  seemed  at  times  to  hem  us  in  on  the  right  and  on  the 
left,  before  us  and  behind !  Another  scene  in  a  few  moments 
greeted  us ;  a  tract  of  gray  and  sunny  woods,  broken  'into 
knolls  and  hollows,  enlivened  by  birds  and  interspersed  with 
flowers.  Among  the  rest  I  recognized  the  mellow  whistle  of 
the  robin,  an  old  familiar  friend  whom  I  had  scarce  expected 
to  meet  in  such  a  place.  Humble-bees  too  were  buzzing 
heavily  about  the  flowers;  and  of  these  a  species  of  larkspur 


208  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

caught  my  eye,  more  appropriate,  it  should  seem,  to  culti- 
vated gardens  than  to  a  remote  wilderness.  Instantly  it 
recalled  a  multitude  of  dormant  and  delightful  recollections. 

Leaving  behind  us  this  spot  and  its  associations,  a  sight 
soon  presented  itself,  characteristic  of  that  warlike  region. 
In  an  open  space,  fenced  in  by  high  rocks,  stood  two  Indian 
forts,  of  a  square  form,  rudely  built  of  sticks  and  logs.  They 
were  somewhat  ruinous,  having  probably  been  constructed 
the  year  before.  Each  might  have  contained  about  twenty 
men.  Perhaps  in  this  gloomy  spot  some  party  had  been  beset 
by  their  enemies,  and  those  scowling  rocks  and  blasted  trees 
might  not  long  since  have  looked  down  on  a  conflict  un- 
chronicled  and  unknown.  Yet  if  any  traces  of  bloodshed 
remained  they  were  completely  hidden  by  the  bushes  and  tall 
rank  weeds. 

Gradually  the  mountains  drew  apart,  and  the  passage 
expanded  into  a  plain,  where  again  we  found  traces  of  an 
Indian  encampment.  There  were  trees  and  bushes  just 
before  us,  and  we  stopped  here  for  an  hour's  rest  and  re- 
freshment. When  we  had  finished  our  meal  Raymond 
struck  fire,  and  lighting  his  pipe,  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree  to  smoke.  For  some  time  I  observed  him  puffing  away 
with  a  face  of  unusual  solemnity.  Then  slowly  taking  the 
pipe  from  his  lips,  he  looked  up  and  remarked  that  we  had 
better  not  go  any  farther. 

"Why  not?"  asked  I. 

He  said  that  the  country  was  become  very  dangerous, 
that  we  were  entering  the  range  of  the  Snakes,  Arapahos, 
and  Gros  Ventre  Blackfeet,  and  that  if  any  of  their  wander- 
ing parties  should  meet  us,  it  would  cost  us  our  lives ;  but  he 
added,  with  a  blunt  fidelity  that  nearly  reconciled  me  to  his 
stupidity,  that  he  would  go  anywhere  I  wished.  I  told  him 
to  bring  up  the  animals,  and  mounting  them  we  proceeded 
again.  I  confess  that,  as  we  moved  forward,  the  prospect 
seemed  but  a  dreary  and  doubtful  one.  I  would  have  given 


the  world  foi 


HUNTING  INDIANS  209 


world  for  my  ordinary  elasticity  of  body  and  mind,  and 
for  a  horse  of  such  strength  and  spirit  as  the  journey  required. 

Closer  and  closer  the  rocks  gathered  round  us,  growing 
taller  and  steeper  and  pressing  more  and  more  upon  our  path. 
We  entered  at  length  a  defile  which  I  never  have  seen  rivaled. 
The  mountain  was  cracked  from  top  to  bottom,  and  we  were 
creeping  along  the  bottom  of  the  fissure,  in  dampness  and 
gloom,  with  the  clink  of  hoofs  on  the  loose  shingly  rocks,  and 
the  hoarse  murmuring  of  a  petulant  brook  which  kept  us 
company.  Sometimes  the  water,  foaming  among  the  stones, 
overspread  the  whole  narrow  passage;  sometimes,  withdraw- 
ing to  one  side,  it  gave  us  room  to  pass  dry-shod.  Looking 
up,  we  could  see  a  narrow  ribbon  of  bright  blue  sky  between 
the  dark  edges  of  the  opposing  cliffs.  This  did  not  last  long. 
The  passage  soon  widened,  and  sunbeams  found  their  way 
down,  flashing  upon  the  black  waters.  The  defile  would 
spread  out  to  many  rods  in  width ;  bushes,  trees,  and  flowers 
would  spring  by  the  side  of  the  brook;  the  cliffs  would  be 
feathered  with  shrubbery  that  clung  in  every  crevice,  and 
fringed  with  trees  that  grew  along  their  sunny  edges.  Then 
we  would  be  moying  again  in  the  darkness.  The  passage 
seemed  about  four  miles  long,  and  before  we  reached  the  end 
of  it,  the  unshod  hoofs  of  our  animals  were  lamentably  bro- 
ken, and  their  legs  cut  by  the  sharp  stones.  Issuing  from 
the  mountain  we  found  another  plain.  All  around  it  stood 
a  circle  of  lofty  precipices  that  seemed  the  impersonation  of 
silence  and  solitude.  Here  again  the  Indians  had  encamped, 
as  well  they  might,  after  passing  with  their  women,  children, 
and  horses  through  the  gulf  behind  us/  In  one  day  we  had 
made  a  journey  which  had  cost  them  three  to  accomplish. 

The  only  outlet  to  this  amphitheater  lay  over  a  hill  some 
two  hundred  feet  high,  up  which  we  moved  with  difficulty. 
Looking  from  the  top,  we  saw  that  at  last  we  were  free  of 
the  mountains.  The  prairie  spread  before  us,  but  so  wild 
and  broken  that  the  view  was  everywhere  obstructed.  Far 


210  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

on  our  left  one  tall  hill  swelled  up  against  the  sky,  on  the 
smooth,  pale  green  surface  of  which  four  slowly  moving 
black  specks  were  discernible.  They  were  evidently  buffalo, 
and  we  hailed  the  sight  as  a  good  augury;  for  where  the 
buffalo  were,  there  too  the  Indians  would  probably  be  found. 
We  hoped  on  that  very  night  to  reach  the  village.  We 
were  anxious  to  do  so  for  a  double  reason,  wishing  to  bring 
our  wearisome  journey  to  an  end,  and  knowing,  moreover, 
that  though  to  enter  the  village  in  broad  daylight  would  be 
a  perfectly  safe  experiment,  yet  to  encamp  in  its  vicinity 
would  be  dangerous.  But  as  we  rode  on,  the  sun  was  sinking, 
and  soon  was  -within  half  an  hour  of  the  horizon.  We 
ascended  a  hill  and  looked  round  us  for  a  spot  for  our  encamp- 
ment. The  prairie  was  like  a  turbulent  ocean,  suddenly  con- 
gealed when  its  waves  were  at  the  highest,  and  it  lay  half  in 
light  and  half  in  shadow,  as  the  rich  sunshine,  yellow  as  gold, 
was  pouring  over  it.  The  rough  bushes  of  the  wild  sage  were 
growing  everywhere,  its  dull  pale  green  overspreading  hill 
and  hollow.  Yet  a  little  way  before  us,  a  bright  verdant  line 
of  grass  was  winding  along  the  plain,  and  here  and  there 
throughout  its  course  water  was  glistening  darkly.  We  went 
down  to  it,  kindled  a  fire,  and  turned  our  horses  loose  to  feed. 
It  was  a  little  trickling  brook,  that  for  some  yards  on  either 
bank  turned  the  barren  prairie  into  fertility,  and  here  and 
there  it  spread  into  deep  pools,  where  the  beaver  had  dammed 
it  up. 

We  placed  our  last  remaining  piece  of  the  antelope  before 
a  scanty  fire,  mournfully  reflecting  on  our  exhausted  stock 
of  provisions.  Just  then  an  enormous  gray  hare,  peculiar  to 
these  prairies,  came  jumping  along,  and  seated  himself  within 
fifty  yards  to  look  at  us.  I  thoughtlessly  raised  my  rifle  to 
shoot  him,  but  Raymond  called  out  to  me  not  to  fire  for  fear 
the  report  should  reach  the  ears  of  the  Indians.  That  night 
for  the  first  time  we  considered  that  the  danger  to  which 
we  were  exposed  was  of  a  somewhat  serious  character ;  and  to 


HUNTING  INDIANS  211 

those  who  are  unacquainted  with  Indians,  it  may  seem  strange 
that  our  chief  apprehensions  arose  from  the  supposed  proxim- 
ity of  the  people  whom  we  intended  to  visit.  Had  any  strag- 
gling party  of  these  faithful  friends  caught  sight  of  us  from 
the  hill-top,  they  would  probably  have  returned  in  the  night 
to  plunder  us  of  our  horses  and  perhaps  of  our  scalps.  But 
we  were  on  the  prairie,  where  the  genius  loci1  is  at  war  with 
all  nervous  apprehensions;  and  I  presume  that  neither  Ray- 
mond nor  I  thought  twice  of  the  matter  that  evening. 

While  he  was  looking  after  the  animals,  I  -sat  by  the  fire 
engaged  in  the  novel  task  of  baking  bread.  The  utensils 
were  of  the  most  simple  and  primitive  kind,  consisting  of  two 
sticks  inclining  over  the  bed  of  coals,  one  end  thrust  into  the 
ground  while  the  dough  was  twisted  in  a  spiral  form  round 
the  other.  Under  such  circumstances  all  the  epicurean  in 
a  man's  nature  is  apt  to  awaken  within  him.  I  revisited  in 
fancy  the  far  distant  abodes  of  good  fare,  not  indeed  Fras- 
cati's,  or  the  Trois  Freres  Provengaux,2  for  that  were  too 
extreme  a  flight;  but  no  other  than  the  homely  table  of  my 
old  friend  and  host,  Tom  Crawford,3  of  the  White  Moun- 
tains. By  a  singular  revulsion,  Tom  himself,  whom  I  well 
remember  to  have  looked  upon  as  the  impersonation  of  all 
that  is  wild  and  backwoodsmanlike,  now  appeared  before  me 
as  the  ministering  angel  of  comfort  and  good  living.  Being 
fatigued  and  drowsy  I  began  to  doze,  and  my  thoughts,  fol- 
lowing the  same  train  of  association,  assumed  another  form. 
Half-dreaming,  I  saw  myself  surrounded  with  the  mountains 
of  New  England,  alive  with  water-falls,  their  black  crags 
tinctured  with  milk-white  mists.  For  this  reverie  I  paid  a 
speedy  penalty;  for  the  bread  was  black  on  one  side  and  soft 
on  the  other. 

!The  spirit  of  the  place.          . 

2Frascati's  was  a   famous   Paris  restaurant.      Probably  the    Trois   Freres 
Provencaux  was  another. 

'Thomas  J.  Crawford,  keeper  of  the  old  Notch  House,  replaced  by  the  Craw- 
ford House,  in  the  White  Mountains. 


212  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

For  eight  hours  Raymond  and  I,  pillowed  on  our  saddles, 
lay  insensible  as  logs.  Pauline's  yellow  head  was  stretched 
over  me  when  I  awoke.  I  got  up  and  examined  her.  Her 
feet  indeed  were  bruised  and  swollen  by  the  accidents  of 
yesterday,  but  her  eye  was  brighter,  her  motions  livelier,  and 
her  mysterious  malady  had  visibly  abated.  We  moved  on, 
hoping  within  an  hour  to  come  in  sight  of  the  Indian  village ; 
but  again  disappointment  awaited  us.  The  trail  disappeared, 
melting  away  upon  a  hard  and  stony  plain.  Raymond  and  I, 
separating,  rode  from  side  to  side,  scrutinizing  every  yard  of 
ground,  until  at  length  I  discerned  traces  of  the  lodge-poles 
passing  by  the  side  of  a  ridge  of  rocks.  We  began  again  to 
follow  them. 

"What  is  that  black  spot  out  there  on  the  prairie?" 

"It  looks  like  a  dead  buffalo,"  answered  Raymond. 

We  rode  out  to  it,  and  found.it  to  be  the  huge  carcass  of 
a  bull  killed  by  the  hunters  as  they  had  passed.  Tangled 
hair  and  scraps  of  hide  were  scattered  all  around,  for  the 
wolves  had  been  making  merry  over  it,  and  had  hollowed  out 
the  entire  carcass.  It  was  covered  with  myriads  of  large 
black  crickets,  and  from  its  appearance  must  certainly  have 
lain  there  for  four  or  five  days.  The  sight  was  a  most  dis- 
heartening one,  and  I  observed  to  Raymond  that  the  Indians 
might  still  be  fifty  or  sixty  miles  before  us.  But  he  shook 
his  head,  and  replied  that  they  dared  not  go  so  far  for  fear 
of  their  enemies,  the  Snakes. 

Soon  after  this  we  lost  the  trail  again,  and  ascended  a 
neighboring  ridge,  totally  at  a  loss.  Before  us  lay  a  plain 
perfectly  flat,  spreading  on  the  right  and  left  without  appar- 
ent limit,  and  bounded  in  front  by  a  long  broken  line  of  hills, 
ten  or  twelve  miles  distant.  All  was  open  and  exposed  to 
view,  yet  not  a  buffalo  nor  an  Indian  was  visible. 

"Do  you  see  that?"  said  Raymond;  "now  we  had  better 
turn  round." 

But    as    Raymond's    bourgeois    thought    otherwise,    we 


desc 


HUNTING  INDIANS  213 


lescended  the  hill  and  began  to  cross  the  plain.  We  had 
come  so  far  that  I  knew  perfectly  well  neither  Pauline's  limbs 
nor  my  own  could  carry  me  back  to  Fort  Laramie.  I  con- 
sidered that  the  lines  of  expediency  and  inclination  tallied 
exactly,  and  that  the  most  prudent  course  was  to  keep  for- 

Iward.  The  ground  immediately  around  us  was  thickly 
strewn  with  the  skulls  and  bones  of  buffalo,  for  here  a  year 
or  two  before  the  Indians  had  made  a  "surround  ;m  yet  no 
living  game  presented  itself.  At  length,  however,  an  ante- 
lope sprang  up  and  gazed  at  us.  We  fired  together,  and  by 
a  singular  fatality  we  both  missed,  although  the  animal  stood, 
a  fair  mark,  within  eighty  yards.  This  ill  success  might  per- 
haps be  charged  to  our  own  eagerness,  for  by  this  time  we 
had  no  provisions  left  except  a  little  flour.  We  could  discern 
several  small  lakes,  or  rather  extensive  pools  of  water,  glisten- 
ing in  the  distance.  As  we  approached  them,  wolves  and 
antelope  bounded  away  through  the  tall  grass  that  grew  in 
their  vicinity,  and  flocks  of  large  white  plover  flew  screaming 
over  their  surface.  Having  failed  of  the  antelope,  Raymond 
tried  his  hand  at  the  birds  with  the  same  ill  success.  The 
water  also  disappointed  us.  Its  muddy  margin  was  so  beaten 
up  by  the  crowd  of  buffalo  that  our  timorous  animals  were 
afraid  to  approach.  So  we  turned  away  and  moved  toward 
the  hills.  The  rank  grass,  where  it  was  not  trampled  down 
by  the  buffalo,  fairly  swept  our  horses'  necks. 

Again  we  found  the  same  execrable  barren  prairie  offering 
no  clew  by  which  to  guide  our  way.  As  we  drew  near  the 
hills  an  opening  appeared,  through  which  the  Indians  must 
have  gone  if  they  had  passed  that  way  at  all.  Slowly  we 
began  to  ascend  it.  I  felt  the  most  dreary  forebodings  of  ill 
success,  when  on  looking  round  I  could  discover  neither  dent 
of  hoof,  nor  footprint,  nor  trace  of  lodge-pole,  though  the 
passage  was  encumbered  by  the  ghastly  skulls  of  buffalo.  We 
heard  thunder  muttering ;  a  storm  was  coming  on. 


driven 


method  of  hunting  in  which  buffalo  or  other  game  are  surrounded  and 
into  a  mass  at  some  favorable  spot  for  shooting. 


214  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

As  we  gained  the  top  of  the  gap,  the  prospect  beyond 
began  to  disclose  itself.  First,  we  saw  a  long  dark  line  of 
ragged  clouds  upon  the  horizon,  while  above  them  rose  the 
peak  of  the  Medicine-Bow,  the  vanguard  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains;1 then  little  by  little  the  plain  came  into  view,  a  vast 
green  uniformity,  forlorn  and  tenantless,  though  Laramie 
Creek  glistened  in  a  waving  line  over  its  surface,  without  a 
bush  or  a  tree  upon  its  banks.  As  yet,  the  round  projecting 
shoulder  of  a  hill  intercepted  a  part  of  the  view.  I  rode  in 
advance,  when  suddenly  I  could  distinguish  a  few  dark  spots 
on  the  prairie,  along  the  bank  of  the  stream. 

"Buffalo!"  said  I.  Then  a  sudden  hope  flashed  upon  me, 
and  eagerly  and  anxiously  I  looked  again. 

"Horses!"  exclaimed  Raymond,  with  a  tremendous  oath, 
lashing  his  mule  forward  as  he  spoke.  More  and  more  of  the 
plain  disclosed  itself,  and  in  rapid  succession  more  and  more 
horses  appeared,  scattered  along  the  river  bank  or  feeding  in 
bands  over  the  prairie.  Then,  suddenly,  standing  in  a  circle 
by  the  stream,  swarming  with  their  savage  inhabitants,  we 
saw  rising  before  us  the  tall  lodges  of  the  Ogallala.  Never 
did  the  heart  of  wanderer  more  gladden  at  the  sight  of  home 
than  did  mine  at  the  sight  of  those  wild  habitations ! 

!The  Medicine  Bow  Mountains  extend  from  Long's  Peak,  Colorado,  to  Wyoming, 
and  form  the  southwest  boundary  of  Laramie  Plain.  The  North  Fork  of  the 
Platte  flows  between  them  and  the  main  range  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   OGALLALA   VILLAGE 

Such  a  narrative  as  this  is  hardly  the  place  for  portray- 
ing the  mental  features  of  the  Indians.  The  same  picture, 
slightly  changed  in  shade  and  coloring,  would  serve  with 
very  few  exceptions  for  all  the  tribes  that  lie  north  of  the 
Mexican  territories.1  But  with  this  striking  similarity  in 
their  modes  of  thought,  the  tribes  of  the  lake  and  ocean 
shores,  of  the  forests  and  of  the  plains,  differ  greatly  in  their 
manner  of  life.  Having  been  domesticated  for  several  weeks 
among  one  of  the  wildest  of  the  wild  hordes  that  roam  over 
the  remote  prairies,  I  had  extraordinary  opportunities  of 
observing  them,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  a  faithful  picture 
of  the  scenes  that  passed  daily  before  my  eyes  may  not  be 
devoid  of  interest  and  value.  These  men  were  thorough 
savages.  Neither  their  manners  nor  their  ideas  were  in  the 
slightest  degree  modified  by  contact  with  civilization.  They 
knew  nothing  of  the  power  and  real  character  of  the  white 
man,  and  their  children  would  scream  in  terror  at  the  sight 
of  me.  Their  religion,  their  superstitions,  and  their  preju- 
dices were  the  same  that  had  been  handed  down  to  them  from 
immemorial  time.  They  fought  with  the  same  weapons  that 
their  fathers  fought  with,  and  wore  the  same  rude  garments 
of  skins. 

Great  changes  are  at  hand  in  that  region.  With  the 
stream  of  emigration  to  Oregon  and  California,  the  buffalo 
will  dwindle  away,  and  the  large  wandering  communities 
who  depend  on  them  for  support  must  be  broken  and  scat- 
tered. The  Indians  will  soon  be  corrupted  by  the  example  of 
the  whites,  abased  by  whisky,  and  overawed  by  military  posts ; 

1North,  that  is,  of  what  was  then  the  northern  boundary  of  Mexico. 
215 


216  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

so  that  within  a  few  years  the  traveler  may  pass  in  tolerable 
security  through  their  country.  Its  danger  and  its  charm  will 
have  disappeared  together. 

As  soon  as  Raymond  and  I  discovered  the  village  from 
the  gap  in  the  hills,  we  were  seen  in  our  turn;  keen  eyes 
were  constantly  on  the  watch.  As  we  rode  down  upon  the 
plain  the  side  of  the  village  nearest  us  was  darkened  with  a 
crowd  of  naked  figures  gathering  around  the  lodges.  Several 
men  came  forward  to  meet  us.  I  could  distinguish  among 
them  the  green  blanket  of  the  Frenchman  Reynal.  When 
we  came  up  the  ceremony  of  shaking  hands  had  to  be  gone 
through  with  in  due  form,  and  then  all  were  eager  to  know 
what  had  become  of  the  rest  of  my  party.  I  satisfied  them 
on  this  point,  and  we  all  moved  forward  together  toward  the 
village. 

"You've  missed  it,"  said  Reynal;  "if  you'd  been  here  day 
before  yesterday,  you'd  have  found  the  whole  prairie  over 
yonder  black  with  buffalo  as  far  as  you  could  see.  There 
were  no  cows,  though;  nothing  but  bulls.  We  made  a  'sur- 
round' every  day  till  yesterday.  See  the  village  there;  don't 
that  look  like  good  living?" 

In  fact  I  could  see,  even  at  that  distance,  that  long  cords 
were  stretched  from  lodge  to  lodge,  over  which  the  meat, 
cut  by  the  squaws  into  thin  sheets,  was  hanging  to  dry  in  the 
sun.  I  noticed  too  that  the  village  was  somewhat  smaller 
than  when  I  had  last  seen  it,  and  I  asked  Reynal  the  cause. 
He  said  that  old  Le  Borgne  had  felt  too  weak  to  pass  over 
the  mountains,  and  so  had  remained  behind  with  all  his  rela- 
tions, including  Mahto-Tatonka  and  his  brothers.  The 
Whirlwind  too  had  been  unwilling  to  come  so  far,  because, 
as  Reynal  said,  he  was  afraid.  Only  half  a  dozen  lodges  had 
adhered  to  him,  the  main  body  of  the  village  setting  their 
chief's  authority  at  naught,  and  taking  the  course  most  agree- 
able to  their  inclinations. 

"What  chiefs  are  there  in  the  village  now?"  said  I. 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  217 


K"Well,"  said  Reynal,  "there's  old  Red-Water,  and  the 
gle-Feather,  and  the  Big  Crow,  and  the  Mad  Wolf  and 
the  Panther,  and  the  White-Shield,  and — what's  his  name? — 
the  half-breed  Cheyenne." 

By  this  time  we  were  close  to  the  village,  and  I  observed 
that  while  the  greater  part  of  the  lodges  were  very  large  and 
neat  in  their  appearance,  there  was  at  one  side  a  cluster  of 
squalid,  miserable  huts.  I  looked  toward  them,  and  made  some 
remark  about  their  wretched  appearance.  But  I  was  touch- 
ing upon  delicate  ground. 

"My  squaw's  relations  live  in  those  lodges,"  said  Reynal 
very  warmly,  "and  there  isn't  a  better  set  in  the  whole  vil- 
lage." 

"Are  there  any  chiefs  among  them?"  asked  I. 

"Chiefs?"  said  Reynal;  "yes,  plenty!" 

"What  are  their  names?"  I  inquired. 

"Their  names?  Why,  there's  the  Arrow-Head.  If  he 
isn't  a  chief  he  ought  to  be  one.  And  there's  the  Hail-Storm. 
He's  nothing  but  a  boy,  to  be  sure;  but  he's  bound  to  be  a 
chief  one  of  these  days!" 

Just  then  we  passed  between  two  of  the  lodges,  and 
entered  the  great  area  of  the  village.  Superb  naked  figures 
stood  silently  gazing  on  us. 

"Where's  the  Bad  Wound's  lodge  ?"  said  I  to  Reynal. 

"There,  you've  missed  it  again !  The  Bad  Wound  is 
away  with  The  Whirlwind.  If  you  could  have  found  him 
here,  and  gone  to  live  in  his  lodge,  he  would  have  treated 
you  better  than  any  man  in  the  village.  But  there's  the  Big 
Crow's  lodge  yonder,  next  to  old  Red-Water's.  He's  a  good 
Indian  for  the  whites,  and  I  advise  you  to  go  and  live  with 
him." 

"Are  there  many  squaws  and  children  in  his  lodge?" 
said  I. 

"No;  only  one  squaw  and  two  or  three  children.  He 
keeps  the  rest  in  a  separate  lodge  by  themselves," 


218  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

So,  still  followed  by  a  crowd  of  Indians,  Raymond  and 
I  rode  up  to  the  entrance  of  the  Big  Crow's  lodge.  A  squaw 
came  out  immediately  and  took  our  horses.  I  put  aside  the 
leather  flap  that  covered  the  low  opening,  and  stooping, 
entered  the  Big  Crow's  dwelling.  There  I  could  see  the 
chief  in  the  dim  light,  seated  at  one  side,  on  a  pile  of  buffalo 
robes.  He  greeted  me  with  a  guttural  "How,  cola!"1  I 
requested  Reynal  to  tell  him  that  Raymond  and  I  were  come 
to  live  with  him.  The  Big  Crow  gave  another  low  exclama- 
tion. If  the  reader  thinks  that  we  were  intruding  somewhat 
cavalierly,  I  beg  him  to  observe  that  every  Indian  in  the  village 
would  have  deemed  himself  honored  that  white  men  should 
give  such  preference  to  his  hospitality. 

The  squaw  spread  a  buffalo  robe  for  us  in  the  guest's  place 
at  the  head  of  the  lodge.  Our  saddles  were  brought  in,  and 
scarcely  were  we  seated  upon  them  before  the  place  was 
thronged  with  Indians,  who  came  crowding  in  to  see  us.  The 
Big  Crow  produced  his  pipe  and  filled  it  with  the  mixture  of 
tobacco  and  shongsasha,  or  red  willow  bark.  Round  and 
round  it  passed,  and  a  lively  conversation  went  forward. 
Meanwhile  a  squaw  placed  before  the  two  guests  a  wooden 
bowl  of  boiled  buffalo  meat,  but  unhappily  this  was  not  the 
only  banquet  destined  to  be  inflicted  on  us.  Rapidly,  one 
after  another,  boys  and  young  squaws  thrust  their  heads  in  at 
the  opening,  to  invite  us  to  various  feasts  in  different  parts 
of  the  village.  For  half  an  hour  or  more  we  were  actively 
engaged  in  passing  from  lodge  to  lodge,  tasting  in  each  of 
the  bowl  of  meat  set  before  us,  and  inhaling  a  whiff  or  two 
from  our  entertainer's  pipe.  A  thunderstorm  that  had  been 
threatening  for  some  time  now  began  in  good  earnest.  We 
crossed  over  to  Reynal's  lodge,  though  it  hardly  deserved  this 
name,  for  it  consisted  only  of  a  few  old  buffalo  robes  sup- 
ported on  poles,  and  was  quite  open  on  one  side.  Here  we 
sat  down,  and  the  Indians  gathered  round  us. 

*A  common  Indian  expression  of  greeting. 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  219 

"What  is  it,"  said  I,  "that  makes  the  thunder?" 
"It's  my  belief/'  said  Reynal,  "that  it  is  d  big  stone  rolling 
r  the  sky." 

"Very  likely,"  I  replied;  "but  I  want  to  know  what  the 
Indians  think  about  it." 

I  So  he  interpreted  my  question,  which  seemed  to  produce 
some  doubt  and  debate.  There  was  evidently  a  difference  of 
opinion.  At  last  old  Mene-Seela,  or  Red-water,  who  sat  by 
himself  on  one  side,  looked  up  with  his  withered  face,  and  said 
he  had  always  known  what  the  thunder  was.  It  was  a  great 
black  bird ;  and  once  he  had  seen  it,  in  a  dream,  swooping 
down  from  the  Black  Hills,  with  its  loud  roaring  wings ;  and 
when  it  flapped  them  over  a  lake,  they  struck  lightning  from 
the  water. 

"The  thunder  is  bad,"  said  another  old  man,  who  sat 
muffled  in  his  buffalo  robe;  "he  killed  my  brother  last  sum- 
mer." 

Reynal,  at  my  request,  asked  for  an  explanation;  but  the 
old  man  remained  doggedly  silent,  and  would  not  look  up. 
Some  time  after  I  learned  how  the  accident  occurred.  The 
man  who  was  killed  belonged  to  an  association  which,  among 
other  mystic  functions,  claimed  the  exclusive  power  and  privi- 
lege of  fighting  the  thunder.  Whenever  a  storm  which  they 
wished  to  avert  was  threatening,  the  thunder-fighters  would 
take  their  bows  and  arrows,  their  guns,  their  magic  drum,  and 
a  sort  of  whistle  made  out  of  the  wingbone  of  the  war  eagle. 
Thus  equipped,  they  would  run  out  and  fire  at  the  rising 
cloud,  whooping,  yelling,  whistling,  and  beating  their  drum, 
to  frighten  it  down  again.  One  afternoon  a  heavy  black  cloud 
was  coming  up,  and  they  repaired  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  where 
they  brought  all  their  magic  artillery  into  play  against  it. 
But  the  undaunted  thunder,  refusing  to  be  terrified,  kept 
moving  straight  onward,  and  darted  out  a  bright  flash  which 
struck  one  of  the  party  dead  as  he  was  in  the  very  art  of 
shaking  his  long  iron-pointed  lance  against  it.  TTh 


220  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

scattered  and  ran  yelling  in  an  ecstasy  of  superstitious  terror 
back  to  their  lodges. 

The  lodge  of  my  host  Kongra-Tonga,  or  the  Big  Crow, 
presented  a  picturesque  spectacle  that  evening.  A  score  or 
more  of  Indians  were  seated  around  in  a  circle,  their  dark 
naked  forms  just  visible  by  the  dull  light  of  the  smoldering 
fire  in  the  center,  the  pipe  glowing  brightly  in  the  gloom  as  it 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  round  the  lodge.  Then  a  squaw 
would  drop  a  piece  of  buffalo-fat  on  the  dull  embers. 
Instantly  a  bright  glancing  flame  would  leap  up,  darting  its 
clear  light  to  the  very  apex  of  the  tall  conical  structure, 
where  the  tops  of  the  slender  poles  that  supported  its  cover- 
ing of  leather  were  gathered  together.  It  gilded  the  features 
of  the  Indians,  as  with  animated  gestures  they  sat  around  it, 
telling  their  endless  stories  of  war  and  hunting.  It  displayed 
rude  garments  of  skins  that  hung  around  the  lodge,  the  bow, 
quiver,  and  lance  suspended  over  the  resting-place  of  the 
chief,  and  the  rifles  and  powder-horns  of  the  two  white 
guests.  For  a  moment  all  would  be  bright  as  day;  then 
the  flames  would  die  away,  and  fitful  flashes  from  the 
embers  would  illumine  the  lodge,  and  then  leave  it  in  dark- 
ness. Then  all  the  light  would  wholly  fade,  and  the  lodge 
and  all  within  it  be  involved  again  in  obscurity. 

As  I  left  the  lodge  next  morning,  I  was  saluted  by  howl- 
ing and  yelping  from  all  around  the  village,  and  half  its 
canine  population  rushed  forth  to  the  attack.  Being  as  cow- 
ardly as  they  were  clamorous,  they  kept  jumping  around  me 
at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards,  only  one  little  cur,  about  ten 
inches  long,  having  spirit  enough  to  make  a  direct  assault. 
He  dashed  valiantly  at  the  leather  tassel  which  in  the  Dakota 
fashion  was  trailing  behind  the  heel  of  my  moccasin,  and  kept 
his  hold,  growling  and  snarling  all  the  while,  though  every 
step  I  made  almost  jerked  him  over  on  his  back.  As  I  knew 
that  the  eyes  of  the  whole  village  were  on  the  watch  to  see 
if  I  showed  any  sign  of  apprehension,  I  walked  forward  with- 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  221 


out  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  surrounded  wherever  I  went 
by  this  magic  circle  of  dogs.  When  I  came  to  Reynal's 
lodge  I  sat  down  by  it,  on  which  the  dogs  dispersed  growling 
to  their  respective  quarters.  Only  one  large  white  one 
remained,  who  kept  running  about  before  me  and  showing 
his  teeth.  I  called  him,  but  he  only  growled  the  more.  I 
looked  at  him  well.  He  was  fat  and  sleek,  just  such  a  dog 
as  I  wanted.  "My  friend,"  thought  I,  "you  shall  pay  for 
this!  I  will  have  you  eaten  this  very  morning!" 

I  intended  that  day  to  give  the  Indians  a  feast,  by  way 
of  conveying  a  favorable  impression  of  my  character  and 
dignity;  and  a  white  dog  is  the  dish  which  the  customs  of 
the  Dakota  prescribe  for  all  occasions  of  formality  and 
importance.  I  consulted  Reynal ;  he  soon  discovered  that 
an  old  woman  in  the,  next  lodge  was  owner  of  the  white  dog. 
I  tooL  a  gaudy  cotton  handkerchief,  and  laying  it  on  the 
ground,  arranged  some  vermilion,  beads,  and  other  trinkets 
upon  it.  Then  the  old  squaw  was  summoned.  I  pointed 
to  the  dog  and  to  the  handkerchief.  She  gave  a  scream  of 
delight,  snatched  up  the  prize,  and  vanished  with  it  into  her 
lodge.  For  a  few  more  trifles  I  engaged  the  services  of  two 
other  squaws,  each  of  whom  took  the  white  dog  by  one  of 
his  paws,  and  led  him  away  behind  the  lodges,  while  he  kept 
looking  up  at  them  with  a  face  of  innocent  surprise.  Having 
killed  him  they  threw  him  into  a  fire  to  singe ;  then  chopped 
him  up  and  put  him  into  two  large  kettles  to  boil.  Mean- 
while I  told  Raymond  to  fry  in  buffalo  fat  what  little  flour 
we  had  left,  and  also  to  make  a  kettle  of  tea  as  an  additional 
item  of  the  repast. 

The  Big  Crow's  squaw  was  briskly  at  work  sweeping 
out  the  lodge  for  the  approaching  festivity.  I  confided  to 
my  host  himself  the  task  of  inviting  the  guests,  thinking  that 
I  might  thereby  shift  from  my  own  shoulders  the  odiunr 
of  fancied  neglect  and  oversight. 

When  feasting  is  in  question,  one  hour  of  the  day  serve* 


THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

an  Indian  as  well  as  another.  My  entertainment  came  off 
about  eleven  o'clock.  At  that  hour,  Reynal  and  Raymond 
walked  across  the  area  of  the  village,  to  the  admiration  of 
the  inhabitants,  carrying  the  two  kettles  of  dog-meat  slung 
on  a  pole  between  them.  These  they  placed  in  the  center 
of  the  lodge,  and  then  went  back  for  the  bread  and  the  tea. 
Meanwhile  I  had  put  on  a  pair  of  brilliant  moccasins,  and 
substituted  for  my  old  buckskin  frock  a  coat  which  I  had 
brought  with  me  in  view  of  such  public  occasions.  I  also 
made  careful  use  of  the  razor,  an  operation  which  no  man 
will  neglect  who  desires  to  gain  the  good  opinion  of  Indians. 
Thus  attired,  I  seated  myself  between  Reynal  and  Raymond 
at  the  head  of  the  lodge.  Only  a  few  minutes  elapsed  before 
all  the  guests  had  come  in  and  were  seated  on  the  ground, 
wedged  together  in  a  close  circle  around  the  lodge.  Each 
brought  with  him  a  wooden  bowl  to  hold  his  share  of  the 
repast.  When  all  were  assembled,  two  of  the  officials  called 
"soldiers"1  by  the  white  men,  came  forward  with  ladles 
made  of  the  horn  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  sheep,  and  began 
to  distribute  the  feast,  always  assigning  a  double  share  to  the 
old  men  and  chiefs.  The  dog  vanished  with  astonishing 
celerity,  and  each  guest  turned  his  dish  bottom  upward  to 
show  that  all  was  gone.  Then  the  bread  was  distributed 
in  its  turn,  and  finally  the  tea.  As  the  soldiers  poured  it  out 
into  the  same  wooden  bowls  that  had  served  for  the  substan- 
tial part  of  the  meal,  I  thought  it  had  a  particularly  curious 
and  uninviting  color. 

"Oh!"  said  Reynal,  "there  was  not  tea  enough,  so  I 
stirred  some  soot  in  the  kettle,  to  make  it  look  strong." 

Fortunately  an  Indian's  palate  is  not  very  discriminating. 
The  tea  was  well  sweetened,  and  that  was  all  they  cared  for. 

Now,  the  former  part  of  the  entertainment  being  con- 
cluded, the  time  for  speech-making  was  come.  The  Big 
Crow  produced  a  flat  piece  of  wood  on  which  he  cut  up 

iSee  p.  269,  post. 


tobj 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  223 


iacco  and  shongsasha,  and  mixed  them  in  due  proportions. 
The  pipes  were  filled  and  passed  from  hand  to  hand  around 
the  company.  Then  I  began  my  speech,  each  sentence  being 
interpreted  by  Reynal  as  I  went  on,  and  echoed  by  the 
whole  audience  with  the  usual  exclamations  of  assent  and 
approval.  As  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  it  was  as  follows : 

I  had  come,  I  told  them,  from  a  country  so  far  distant, 
that  at  the  rate  they  travel  they  could  not  reach  it  in  a 
year. 

"How!  how!" 

"There  the  Meneaska  were  more  numerous  than  the 
blades  of  grass  on  the  prairie.  The  squaws  were  far  more 
beautiful  than  any  they  had  ever  seen,  and  all  the  men  were 
brave  warriors." 

"How!  how!  how!" 

Here  I  was  assailed  by  sharp  twinges  of  conscience,  for 
I  fancied  I  could  perceive  a  fragrance  of  perfumery  in  the 
air,  and  a  vision  rose  before  me  of  white  kid  gloves  and  silken 
mustaches  with  the  mild  and  gentle  countenances  of  numer- 
ous fair-haired  young  men.  But  I  recovered  myself  and 
began  again. 

"While  I  was  living  in  the  Meneaska  lodges,  I  had  heard 
of  the  Ogallala,  how  great  and  brave  a  nation  they  were, 
how  they  loved  the  whites,  and  how  well  they  could  hunt  the 
buffalo  and  strike  their  enemies.  I  resolved  to  come  and  see 
if  all  that  I  heard  was  true." 

"How!  how!  how!  how!" 

"As  I  had  come  on  horseback  through  the  mountains,  I 
had  been  able  to  bring  them  only  a  very  few  presents." 

"How!" 

"But  I  had  enough  tobacco  to  give  them  all  a  small  piece. 
They  might  smoke  it  and  see  how  much  better  it  was  than 
the  tobacco  which  they  got  from  the  traders." 

"How!  how!  how!" 

"I  had  plenty  of  powder,  lead,  knives,  and  tobacco  at 


224  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Fort  Laramie.  These  I  was  anxious  to  give  them,  and  if  j 
any  of  them  should  come  to  the  fort  before  I  went  away,  I  3 
would  make  them  handsome  presents." 

"How!  how!  how!  how!" 

Raymond  then  cut  up  and  distributed  among  them  two 
or  three  pounds  of  tobacco,  and  old  Mene-Seela  began  to 
make  a  reply.     It  was  quite  long,  but  the  following  was  the  * 
pith  of  it : 

"He  had  always  loved  the  whites.    They  were  the  wisest 
people  on  earth.     He  believed  they  could  do  everything,  and 
he  was  always  glad  when  any  of  them  came  to  live  in  the 
Ogallala  lodges.     It  was  true  I  had  not  made  them  many  \ 
presents,  but  the  reason  of  it  was  plain.     It  was  clear  that  I  , 
liked  them,  or  I  never  should  have  come  so  far  to  find  their 
village." 

Several  other  speeches  of  similar  import  followed,  and 
then  this  more  serious  matter  being  disposed  of,  there  was 
an  interval  of  smoking,  laughing,  and  conversation;  but  old 
Mene-Seela  suddenly  interrupted  it  with  a  loud  voice: 

"Now  is  a  good  time,"  he  said,  "when  all  the  old  men 
and  chiefs  are  here  together,  to  decide  what  the  people  shall 
do.  We  came  over  the  mountain  to  make  our  lodges  for  next 
year.  Our  old  ones  are  good  for  nothing;  they  are  rotten 
and  worn  out.  But  we  have  been  disappointed.  We  have 
killed  buffalo  bulls  enough,  but  we  have  found  no  herds  of 
cows,  and  the  skins  of  bulls  are  too  thick  and  heavy  for  our 
squaws  to  make  lodges  of.  There  must  be  plenty  of  cows 
about  the  Medicine-Bow  Mountain.  We  ought  to  go  there. 
To  be  sure  it  is  farther  westward  than  we  have  ever  been 
before,  and  perhaps  the  Snakes  will  attack  us,  for  those  hunt- 
ing grounds  belong  to  them.  But  we  must  have  new  lodges 
at  any  rate;  our  old  ones  will  not  serve  for  another  year. 
We  ought  not  to  be  afraid  of  the  Snakes.  Our  warriors 
are  brave,  and  they  are  all  ready  for  war.  Besides,  we  have 
three  white  men  with  their  rifles  to  help  us." 


I 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  225 


I  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  old  man  relied  a  little 
too  much  on  the  aid  of  allies,  one  of  whom  was  a  coward, 
another  a  blockhead,  and  the  third  an  invalid.  This  speech 
produced  a  good  deal  of  debate.  As  Reynal  did  not  inter- 
pret what  was  said,  I  could  only  judge  of  the  meaning  by 
the  features  and  gestures  of  the  speakers.  At  the  end  of  it, 
however,  the  greater  number  seemed  to  have  fallen  in  with 
Mene-Seela's  opinion.  A  short  silence  followed',  and  then 
the  old  man  struck  up  a  discordant  chant,  which  I  was  told 
was  a  song  of  thanks  for  the  entertainment  I  had  given 
them. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "let  us  go  and  give  the  white  man  a 
chance  to  breathe." 

So  the  company  all  dispersed  into  the  open  air,  and  for 
some  time  the  old  chief  was  walking  round  the  village,  sing- 
ing his  song  in  praise  of  the  feast,  after  the  usual  custom  of 
the  nation. 

At  last  the  day  drew  to  a  close,  and  as  the  sun  went  down 
the  horses  came  trooping  from  the  surrounding  plains  to  be 
picketed  before  the  dwellings  of  their  respective  masters. 
Soon  within  the  great  circle  of  lodges  appeared  another 
concentric  circle  of  restless  horses;  and  here  and  there  fires 
were  glowing  and  flickering  amid  the  gloom  on  the  dusky 
figures  around  them.  I  went  over  and  sat  by  the  lodge  of 
Reynal.  The  Eagle-Feather,  who  was  a  son  of  Mena-Seela 
and  brother  of  my  host  the  Big  Crow,  was  seated  there 
already,  and  I  asked  him  if  the  village  would  move  in  the 
morning.  He  shook  his  head  and  said  that  nobody  could 
tell,  for  since  old  Mahto-Tatonka  had  died,  the  people  had 
been  like  children  that  did  not  know  their  own  minds.  They 
were  no  better  than  a  body  without  a  head.  So  I,  as  well 
as  the  Indians  themselves,  fell  asleep  that  night  without 
knowing  whether  we  should  set  out  in  the  morning  toward 
the  country  of  the  Snakes. 

At  daybreak,   however,   as  I  was  coming  up  from   the 


226  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

river  after  my  morning's  ablutions,  I  saw  that  a  movement 
was  contemplated.  Some  of  the  lodges  were  reduced  to 
nothing  but  bare  skeletons  of  poles ;  the  leather  covering  of 
others  was  flapping  in  the  wind  as  the  squaws  were  pulling 
it  off.  One  or  two  chiefs  of  note  had  resolved,  it  seemed, 
on  moving;  and  so  having  set  their  squaws  at  work,  the 
example  was  tacitly  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  village. 
One  by  one  the  lodges  were  sinking  down  in  rapid  succes- 
sion, and  where  the  great  circle  of  the  village  had  been  only 
a  moment  before,  nothing  now  remained  but  a  ring  of  horses 
and  Indians,  crowded  in  confusion  together.  The  ruins  of 
the  lodges  were  spread  over  the  ground,  together  with  ket- 
tles, stone  mallets,  great  ladles  of  horn,  buffalo  robes,  and 
cases  of  painted  hide  rilled  with  dried  meat.  Squaws  bustled 
about  in  their  busy  preparations,  the  old  hags  screaming  to 
one  another  at  the  stretch  of  their  leathern  lungs.  The 
shaggy  horses  were  patiently  standing  while  the  lodge-poles 
were  lashed  to  their  sides,  and  the  baggage  piled  upon  their 
backs.  The  dogs,  with  their  tongues  lolling  out,  lay  lazily 
panting,  and  waiting  for  the  time  of  departure.  Each  war- 
rior sat  on  the  ground  by  the  decaying  embers  of  his  fire, 
unmoved  amid  all  the  confusion,  while  he  held  in  his  hand 
the  long  trail-rope  of  his  horse. 

As  their  preparations  were  completed,  each  family  moved 
off  the  ground.  The  crowd  was  rapidly  melting  away.  I 
could  see  them  crossing  the  river,  and  passing  in  quick  suc- 
cession along  the  profile  of  the  hill  on  the  farther  bank. 
When  all  were  gone,  I  mounted  and  set  out  after  them,  fol- 
lowed by  Raymond,  and  as  we  gained  the  summit  the  whole 
village  came  in  view  at  once,  straggling  away  for  a  mile  or 
more  over  the  barren  plains  before  us.  Everywhere  the 
iron  points  of  lances  were  glittering.  The  sun  never  shone 
upon  a  more  strange  array.  Here  were  the  heavy-laden 
pack  horses,  some  wretched  old  women  leading  them  and 
two  or  three  children  clinging  to  their  backs.  Here  were 


I 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  227 


mules  or  ponies  covered  from  head  to  tail  with  gaudy  trap- 
pings, and  mounted  by  some  gay  young  squaw,  grinning 
bashfulness  and  pleasure  as  the  Meneaska  looked  at  her. 
Boys  with  miniature  bows  and  arrows  were  wandering  over 
the  plains,  little  naked  children  were  running  along  on  foot, 
and  numberless  dogs  were  scampering  among  the  feet  of  the 
horses.  The  young  braves,  gaudy  with  paint  and  feathers, 
were  riding  in  groups  among  the  crowd,  and  often  galloping 
two  or  three  at  once  along  the  line,  to  try  the  speed  of  their 
horses.  Here  and  there  you  might  see  a  rank  of  sturdy 
pedestrians  stalking  along  in  their  white  buffalo  robes.  These 
were  the  dignitaries  of  the  village,  the  old  men  and  warriors, 
to  whose  age  and  experience  that  wandering  democracy 
yielded  a  silent  deference.  With  the  rough  prairie  and  the 
broken  hills  for  its  background,  the  restless  scene  was  strik- 
ing and  picturesque  beyond  description.  Days  and  weeks 
made  me  familiar  with  it,  but  never  impaired  its  effect  upon 
my  fancy. 

As  we  moved  on  the  broken  column  grew  yet  more  scat- 
tered and  disorderly,  until,  as  we  approached  the  foot  of  a 
hill,  I  saw  the  old  men  before-mentioned  seating  themselves 
in  a  line  upon  the  ground,  in  advance  of  the  whole.  They 
lighted  a  pipe  and  sat  smoking,  laughing,  and  telling  stories, 
while  the  people,  stopping  as  they  successively  came  up,  were 
soon  gathered  in  a  crowd  behind  them.  Then  the  old  men 
rose,  drew  their  buffalo  robes  over  their  shoulders,  and  strode 
on  as  before.  Gaining  the  top  of  the  hill,  we  found  a  very 
steep  declivity  before  us.  There  was  not  a  minute's  pause. 
The  whole  descended  in  a  mass,  amid  dust  and  confusion. 
The  horses  braced  their  feet  as  they  slid  down,  women  and 
children  were  screaming,  dogs  yelping  as  they  were  trodden 
upon,  while  stones  and  earth  went  rolling  to  the  bottom.  In 
a  few  moments  I  could  see  the  village  from  the  summit, 
spreading  again  far  and  wide  over  the  plain  below. 

At  our  encampment  that  afternoon  I  was  attacked  anew 


228  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

by  my  old  disorder.  In  half  an  hour  the  strength  that  I  had 
been  gaining  for  a  week  past  had  vanished  again,  and  I 
became  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  But  at  sunset  I  lay  down  in 
the  Big  Crow's  lodge  and  slept,  totally  unconscious  till  the 
morning.  The  first  thing  that  awakened  me  was  a  hoarse 
flapping  over  my  head,  and  a  sudden  light  that  poured  in 
upon  me.  The  camp  was  breaking  up,  and  the  squaws 
were  moving  the  covering  from  the  lodge.  I  arose  and  shook 
off  my  blanket  with  the  feeling  of  perfect  health ;  but  scarcely 
had  I  gained  my  feet  when  a  sense  of  my  helpless  condition 
was  once  more  forced  upon  me,  and  I  found  myself  scarcely 
able  to  stand.  Raymond  had  brought  up  Pauline  and  the 
mule,  and  I  stooped  to  raise  my  saddle  from  the  ground. 
My  strength  was  quite  inadequate  to  the  task.  "You  must 
saddle  her,"  said  I  to  Raymond,  as  I  sat  down  again  on  a 
pile  of  buffalo  robes: 

»'*Et  haec  etiam  fortasse  meminisse  juvabit,"1 
I  thought,  while  with  a  painful  effort  I  raised  myself  into 
the  saddle.  Half  an  hour  after,  even  the  expectation  that 
Virgil's  line  expressed  seemed  destined  to  disappointment. 
As  we  were  passing  over  a  great  plain,  surrounded  by  long 
broken  ridges,  I  rode  slowly  in  advance  of  the  Indians,  with 
thoughts  that  wandered  far  from  the  time  and  from  the 
place.  Suddenly  the  sky  darkened  and  thunder  began  to 
mutter.  Clouds  were  rising  over  the  hills,  as  dreary  and  dull 
as  the  first  forebodings  of  an  approaching  calamity;  and  in  a 
moment  all  around  was  wrapped  in  shadow.  I  looked 
behind.  The  Indians  had  stopped  to  prepare  for  the 
approaching  storm,  and  the  dark,  dense  mass  of  savages 
stretched  far  to  the  right  and  left.  Since  the  first  attack 
of  my  disorder  the  effects  of  rain  upon  me  had  usually  been 
injurious  in  the  extreme.  I  had  no  strength  to  spare,  having 
at  that  moment  scarcely  enough  to  keep  my  seat  on  horseback. 

incorrectly  quoted  from  the  JEneid,  1, 1.  203,  "Forsan  et  haec  olim  meminisse 
juvabit"=" Perhaps  it  may  please  you  hereafter  to  recall  these  trials." 


I 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  229 


Then,   for  the  first  time,  it  pressed  upon  me  as  a  strong 
probability  that  I  might  never  leave  those  deserts.     "Well," 
thought  I  to  myself,  "a  prairie  makes  quick  and  sharp  work. 
Better  to  die  here,  in  the  saddle  to  the  last,  than  to  stifle  in 
the  hot  air  of  a  sick  chamber;  and  a  thousand  times  better 
than  to  drag  out  life,  as  many  have  done,  in  the  helpless  inac- 
tion of  lingering  disease/'     So,  drawing  the  buffalo  robe  on 
which  I  sat  over  my  head,  I  waited  till  the  storm  should 
ie.     It  broke  at  last  with  a  sudden  burst  of  fury,  and 
ing  away  as  rapidly  as  it  came,  left  the  sky  clear  again. 
y  reflections  served  me  no  other  purpose  than  to  look  back 
pon  as  a  piece  of  curious  experience;  for  the  rain  did  not 
produce  the  ill  effects  that  I  had  expected.     We  encamped 

Kthin  an  hour.     Having  no  change  of  clothes,  I  contrived 
borrow  a  curious  kind  of  substitute  from  Reynal ;  and  this 
ne,  I  went  home,  that  is,  to  the  Big  Crow's  lodge,  to  make 
;  entire  transfer  that  was  necessary.     Half  a  dozen  squaws 
were  in  the  lodge,  and  one  of  them  taking  my  arm  held  it 
against  her  own,  w^hile  a  general  laugh  and  scream  of  admi- 
ration was  raised  at  the  contrast  in  the  color  of  the  skin. 

Our  encampment  that  afternoon  was  not  far  distant 
from  a  spur  of  the  Black  Hills,  whose  ridges,  bristling  with 
fir  trees,  rose  from  the  plains  a  mile  or  two  on  our  right. 
That  they  might  move  more  rapidly  toward  their  proposed 
hunting-grounds,  the  Indians  determined  to  leave  at  this 
place  their  stock  of  dried  meat  and  other  superfluous  articles. 
Some  left  even  their  lodges,  and  contented  themselves  with 
carrying  a  few  hides  to  make  a  shelter  from  the  sun  and  rain. 
Half  the  inhabitants  set  out  in  the  afternoon,  with  loaded 
pack  horses,  toward  the  mountains.  Here  they  suspended 
the  dried  meat  upon  trees,  where  the  wolves  and  grizzly 
bears  could  not  get  at  it.  All  returned  at  evening.  Some 
of  the  young  men  declared  that  they  had  heard  the  reports 
of  guns  among  the  mountains  to  the  eastward,  and  many 
surmises  were  thrown  out  as  to  the  origin  of  these  sounds. 


230  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

For  my  part,  I  was  in  hopes  that  Shaw  and  Henry  Chatillon 
were  coming  to  join  us.  I  would  have  welcomed  them 
cordially,  for  I  had  no  other  companions  than  two  brutish 
white  men  and  five  hundred  savages.  I  little  suspected  that 
at  that  very  moment  my  unlucky  comrade  was  lying  on  a 
buffalo  robe  at  Fort  Laramie,  fevered  with  ivy  poison,  and 
solacing  his  woes  with  tobacco  and  Shakspere. 

As  we  moved  over  the  plains  on  the  next  morning,  several 
young  men  were  riding  about  the  country  as  scouts ;  and  at 
length  we  began  to  see  them  occasionally  on  the  tops  of  the 
hills,  shaking  their  robes  as  a  signal  that  they  saw  buffalo. 
Soon  after  some  bulls  came  in  sight.  Horsemen  darted 
away  in  pursuit,  and  we  could  see  from  the  distance  that  one 
or  two  of  the  buffalo  were  killed.  Raymond  suddenly  became 
inspired.  I  looked  at  him  as  he  rode  by  my  side;  his  face 
had  actually  grown  intelligent ! 

"This  is  the  country  for  me!"  he  said;  "if  I  could  only 
carry  the  buffalo  that  are  killed  here  every  month  down  to 
St.  Louis  I'd  make  my  fortune  in  one  winter.  I'd  grow 
as  rich  as  old  Papin,  or  Mackenzie  either.  I  call  this  the  poor 
man's  market.  When  I'm  hungry  I  have  only  got  to  take 
my  rifle  and  go  out  and  get  better  meat  than  the  rich  folks 
down  below  can  get  with  all  their  money.  You  won't  catch 
me  living  in  St.  Louis  another  winter." 


"Look!  look!"  exclaimed  Reynal.  "The  Panther  is  run- 
ning an  antelope!" 

The  Panther,  on  his  black  and  white  horse,  one  of  the 
best  in  the  village,  came  at  full  speed  over  the  hill  in  hot 
pursuit  of  an  antelope  that  darted  away  like  lightning  before 
him.  The  attempt  was  made  in  mere  sport  and  bravado,  for 
very  few  are  the  horses  that  can  for  a  moment  compete  in 
swiftness  with  this  little  animal.  The  antelope  ran  down  the 
hill  toward  the  main  body  of  the  Indians,  who  were  moving 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  231 

er  the  plain  below.  Sharp  yells  were  given  and  horsemen 
Hoped  out  to  intercept  his  flight.  At  this  he  turned  sharply 
to  the  left  and  scoured  away  with  such  incredible  speed  that 
he  distanced  all  his  pursuers  and  even  the  vaunted  horse  of 
the  Panther  himself.  A  few  moments  after  we  witnessed  a 
more  serious  sport.  A  shaggy  buffalo  bull  bounded  out  from 
a  neighboring  hollow,  and  close  behind  him  came  a  slender 
Indian  boy,  riding  without  stirrups  or  saddle,  and  lashing  his 
eager  little  horse  to  full  speed.  Yard  after  yard  he  drew 
closer  to  his  gigantic  victim,  though  the  bull,  with  his  short 
tail  erect  and  his  tongue  lolling  out  a  foot  from  his  foaming 
jaws,  was  straining  his  unwieldy  strength  to  the  utmost.  A 
moment  more  and  the  boy  was  close  alongside  of  him.  It 
was  our  friend  the  Hail-Storm.  He  dropped  the  rein  on  his 
horse's  neck  and  jerked  an  arrow  like  lightning  from  the 
quiver  at  his  shoulder. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Reynal,  "that  in  a  year's  time  that  boy 
will  match  the  best  hunter  in  the  village.  There  he  has 
given  it  to  him!  and  there  goes  another!  You  feel  well,  now, 
old  bull,  don't  you,  with  two  arrows  stuck  in  your  lights? 
There,  he  has  given  him  another!  Hear  how  the  Hail- 
Storm  yells  when  he  shoots!  Yes,  jump  at  him;  try  it  again, 
old  fellow !  You  may  jump  all  day  before  you  get  your  horns 
into  that  pony!" 

The  bull  sprang  again  and  again  at  his  assailant,  but  the 
horse  kept  dodging  with  wonderful  celerity.  At  length  the 
bull  followed  up  his  attack  with  a  furious  rush,  and  the  Hail- 
Storm  was  put  to  flight,  the  shaggy  monster  following  close 
behind.  The  boy  clung  in  his  seat  like  a  leech,  and  secure  in 
the  speed  of  his  little  pony,  looked  round  toward  us  and 
laughed.  In  a  moment  he  was  again  alongside  of  the  bull,  who 
was  now  driven  to  complete  desperation.  His  eyeballs  glared 
through  his  tangled  mane,  and  the  blood  flew  from  his  mouth 
and  nostrils.  Thus,  still  battling  with  each  other,  the  two 
enemies  disappeared  over  the  hill. 


232  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Many  of  the  Indians  rode  at  full  gallop  toward  the  spot. 
We  followed  at  a  more  moderate  pace,  and  soon  saw  the 
bull  lying  dead  on  the  side  of  the  hill.  The  Indians  were 
gathered  around  him,  and  several  knives  were  already  at 
work.  These  little  instruments  were  plied  with  such  wonder- 
ful address  that  the  twisted  sinews  were  cut  apart,  the  pon- 
derous bones  fell  asunder  as  if  by  magic,  and  in  a  moment  the 
vast  carcass  was  reduced  to  a  heap  of  bloody  ruins.  The 
surrounding  group  of  savages  offered  no  very  attractive  spec- 
tacle to  a  civilized  eye.  Some  were  cracking  the  huge  thigh- 
bones and  devouring  the  marrow  within ;  others  were  cutting 
away  pieces  of  the  liver  and  other  approved  morsels,  and 
swallowing  them  on  the  spot  with  the  appetite  of  wolves. 
The  faces  of  most  of  them,  besmeared  with  blood  from  ear 
to  ear,  looked  grim  and  horrible  enough.  My  friend  the 
White  Shield  proffered  me  a  marrowbone,  so  skillfully  laid 
open  that  all  the  rich  substance  within  was  exposed  to  view 
at  once.  Another  Indian  held  out  a  large  piece  of  the  delicate 
lining  of  the  paunch;  but  these  courteous  offerings  I  begged 
leave  to  decline.  I  noticed  one  little  boy  who  was  very  busy 
with  his  knife  about  the  jaws  and  throat  of  the  buffalo,  from 
which  he  extracted  some  morsel  of  peculiar  delicacy.  It  is  but 
fair  to  say  that  only  certain  parts  of  the  animal  are  considered 
eligible  in  these  extempore  banquets.  The  Indians  would 
look  with  abhorrence  on  anyone  who  should  partake  indis- 
criminately of  the  newly  killed  carcass. 

We  encamped  that  night,  and  marched  westward  through 
the  greater  part  of  the  following  day.  On  the  next  morning 
we  again  resumed  our  journey.  It  was  the  seventeenth  of 
July,  unless  my  notebook  misleads  me.  At  noon  we  stopped 
by  some  pools  of  rain-water,  and  in  the  afternoon  again  set 
forward.  This  double  movement  was  contrary  to  the  usual 
practice  of  the  Indians,  but  all  were  very  anxious  to  reach  the 
hunting  ground,  kill  the  necessary  number  of  buffalo,  and 
retreat  as  soon  as  possible  from  the  dangerous  neighborhood. 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE  233 

pass  by  for  the  present  some  curious  incidents  that  occurred 
aring  these  marches  and  encampments.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  last  mentioned  day  we  came  upon  the  banks  of  a 
little  sandy  stream,  of  which  the  Indians  could  not  tell  the 
name ;  for  they  were  very  ill  acquainted  with  that  part  of  the 
country.  So  parched  and  arid  were  the  prairies  around  that 
they  could  not  supply  grass  enough  for  the  horses  to  feed  upon, 
and  we  were  compelled  to  move  farther  and  farther  up  the 
stream  in  search  of  ground  for  encampment.  The  country 
was  much  wilder  than  before.  The  plains  were  gashed 
with  ravines  and  broken  into  hollows  and  steep  declivities 
which  flanked  our  course,  as,  in  long  scattered  array,  the 
Indians  advanced  up  the  side  of  the  stream.  Mene-Seela 
consulted  an  extraordinary  oracle  to  instruct  him  where  the 
buffalo  were  to  be  found.  When  he  with  the  other  chiefs 
sat  down  on  the  grass  to  smoke  and  converse,  as  they  often 
did  during  the  march,  the  old  man  picked  up  one  of  those 
enormous  black-and-green  crickets,  which  the  Dakota  call 
by  a  name  that  signifies  "They  who  point  out  the  buffalo." 
The  Root-Diggers,  a  wretched  tribe  beyond  the  mountains, 
turn  them  to  good  account  by  making  them  into  a  sort  of 
soup,  pronounced  by  certain  unscrupulous  trappers  to  be 
extremely  rich.  Holding  the  bloated  insect  respectfully 
between  his  fingers  and  thumb,  the  old  Indian  looked  atten- 
tively at  him  and  inquired,  "Tell  me,  my  father,  where  must 
we  go  tomorrow  to  find  the  buffalo?"  The  cricket  twisted 
about  his  long  horns  in  evident  embarrassment.  At  last 
he  pointed,  or  seemed  to  point,  them  westward.  Mene- 
Seela,  dropping  him  gently  on  the  grass,  laughed  with  great 
glee,  and  said  that  if  we  went  that  way  in  the  morning 
we  should  be  sure  to  kill  plenty  of  game. 

Toward  evening  we  came  upon  a  fresh  green  meadow, 
traversed  by  the  stream,  and  deep-set  among  tall  sterile 
bluffs.  The  Indians  descended  its  steep  bank;  and  as  I  was 
at  the  rear,  I  was  one  of  the  last  to  reach  this  point.  Lances 


234  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

were  glittering,  feathers  fluttering,  and  the  water  below  me 
was  crowded,  with  men  and  horses  passing  through,  while 
the  meadow  beyond  was  swarming  with  the  restless  crowd 
of  Indians.  The  sun  was  just  setting,  and  poured  its  sof- 
tened light  upon  them  through  an  opening  in  the  hills. 

I  remarked  to  Reynal  that  at  last  we  had  found  a  good 
camping-ground. 

"Oh,  it  is  very  good,"  replied  he  ironically;  "especially 
if  there  is  a  Snake  war  party  about,  and  they  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  shoot  down  at  us  from  the  top  of  these  hills. 
It  is  no  plan  of  mine,  camping  in  such  a  hole  as  this!" 

The  Indians  also  seemed  apprehensive.  High  up  on 
the  top  of  the  tallest  bluff,  conspicuous  in  the  bright  evening 
sunlight,  sat  a  naked  warrior  on  horseback,  looking  around, 
as  it  seemed,  over  the  neighboring  country;  and  Raymond 
told  me  that  many  of  the  young  men  had  gone  out  in  differ- 
ent directions  as  scouts. 

The  shadows  had  reached  to  the  very  summit  of  the 
bluffs  before  the  lodges  were  erected  and  the  village  reduced 
again  to  quiet  and  order.  A  cry  was  suddenly  raised,  and 
men,  .women,  and  children  came  running  out  with  animated 
faces,  and  looked  eagerly  through  the  opening  on  the  hills 
by  which  the  stream  entered  from  the  westward.  I  could 
discern  afar  off  some  dark,  heavy  masses  passing  over  the 
sides  of  a  low  hill.  They  disappeared,  and  then  others  fol- 
lowed. These  were  bands  of  buffalo  cows.  The  hunting 
ground  was  reached  at  last,  and  everything  promised  well 
for  the  morrow's  sport.  Being  fatigued  and  exhausted,  I 
went  and  lay  down  in  Kongra-Tonga's  lodge,  when  Ray- 
mond thrust  in  his  head  and  called  upon  me  to  come  and 
see  some  sport. ,  A  number  of  Indians  were  gathered,  laugh- 
ing, along  the  line  of  lodges  on  the  western  side  of  the  vil- 
lage, and  at  some  distance  I  could  plainly  see  in  the  twilight 
two  huge  black  monsters  stalking,  heavily  and  solemnly, 
directly  toward  us.  They  were  buffalo  bulls.  The  wind 


THE  OGALLALA  VILLAGE 

blew  from  them  to  the  village,  and  such  was  their  blindness 
and  stupidity  that  they  were  advancing  upon  the  enemy 
without  the  least  consciousness  of  his  presence.  Raymond 
told  me  that  two  young  men  had  hidden  themselves  with 
guns  in  a  ravine  about  twenty  yards  in  front  of  us.  The 
two  bulls  walked  slowly  on,  heavily  swinging  from  side  to 
side  in  their  peculiar  gait  of  stupid  dignity.  They  approached 
within  four  or  five  rods  of  the  ravine  where  the  Indians  lay 
in  ambush.  Here  at  last  they  seemed  conscious  that  some- 
thing was  wrong,  for  they  both  stopped  and  stood  perfectly 
still,  without  looking  either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left. 
Nothing  of  them  was  to  be  seen  but  two  huge  black  masses 
of  shaggy  mane,  with  horns,  eyes,  and  nose  in  the  center, 
and  a  pair  of  hoofs  visible  at  the  bottom.  At  last  the  more 
intelligent  of  them  seemed  to  have  concluded  that  it  was 
time  to  retire.  Very  slowly,  and  with  an  air  of  the  gravest 
and  most  majestic  deliberation,  he  began  to  turn  round,  as 
if  he  were  revolving  on  a  pivot.  Little  by  little  his  ugly 
brown  side  was  exposed  to  view.  A  white  smoke  sprang  out, 
as  it  were  from  the  ground ;  a  sharp  report  came  writh  it. 
The  old  bull  gave  a  very  undignified  jump  and  galloped 
off.  At  this  his  comrade  wheeled  about  with  considerable 
expedition.  The  other  Indian  shot  at  him  from  the  ravine, 
and  then  both  the  bulls  were  running  away  at  full  speed, 
while  half  the  juvenile  population  of  the  village  raised  a 
yell  and  ran  after  them.  The  first  bull  soon  stopped,  and 
while  the  crowd  stood  looking  at  him  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, he  reeled  and  rolled  over  on  his  side.  The  other, 
wounded  in  a  less  vital  part,  galloped  away  to  the  hills  and 
escaped. 

In  half  an  hour  it  was  totally  dark.  I  lay  down  to  sleep, 
and  ill  as  I  was,  there  was  something  very  animating  in  the 
prospect  of  the  general  hunt  that  was  to  take  place  on  the 
morrow. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   HUNTING  CAMP 

Long  before  daybreak  the  Indians  broke  up  their  camp, 
fhe  women  of  Mene-Seela's  lodge  were  as  usual  among 
the  first  that  were  ready  for  departure,  and  I  found  the  old 
man  himself  sitting  by  the  embers  of  the  decayed  fire,  over 
which  he  was  warming  his  withered  fingers,  as  the  morning 
was  very  chilly  and  damp.  The  preparations  for  moving 
were  even  more  confused  and  disorderly  than  usual.  While 
some  families  were  leaving  the  ground,  the  lodges  of  others 
were  still  standing  untouched.  At  this  old  Mene-Seela 
grew  impatient,  and  walking  out  to  the  middle  of  the 
village  stood  with  his  robe  wrapped  close  around  him,  and 
harangued  the  people  in  a  loud,  sharp  voice.  Now,  he  said, 
when  they  were  on  an  enemy's  hunting  grounds,  was  not  the 
time  to  behave  like  children;  they  ought  to  be  more  active 
and  united  than  ever.  His  speech  had  some  effect.  The 
delinquents  took  down  their  lodges  and  loaded  their  pack 
horses;  and  when  the  sun  rose,  the  last  of  the  men,  women, 
and  children  had  left  the  deserted  camp. 

This  movement  was  made  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
finding  a  better  and  safer  position.  So  we  advanced  only 
threei  or  four  miles  up  the  little  stream,  before  each  family 
assumed  its  relative  place  in  the  great  ring  of  the  village, 
and  all  around  the  squaws  were  actively  at  work  in  prepar- 
ing the  camp.  But  not  a  single  warrior  dismounted  from 
his  horse.  All  the  men  that  morning  were  mounted  on 
inferior  animals,  leading  their  best  horses  by  a  cord  or  con- 
fiding them  to  the  care  of  boys.  In  small  parties  they  began 
to  leave  the  ground  and  ride  rapidly  away  over  the  plains 

236 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  237 

to  the  westward.  I  had  taken  no  food  that  morning,  and  not 
being  at  all  ambitious  of  farther  abstinence,  I  went  into  my 
host's  lodge,  which  his  squaws  had  erected  with  wonderful 
celerity,  and  sat  down  in  the  center  as  a  gentle  hint  that  I 
was  hungry.  A  wooden  bowl  was  soon  set  before  me,  filled 
with  the  nutritious  preparation  of  dried  meat  called  pemmi- 
can  by  the  northern  voyagers  and  wasna  by  the  Dakota. 
Taking  a  handful  to  break  my  fast  upon,  I  left  the  lodge  just 
in  time  to  see  the  last  band  of  hunters  disappear  aver  the 
ridge  of  the  neighboring  hill.  I  mounted  Pauline  and  gal- 
loped in  pursuit,  riding  rather  by  the  balance  than  by  any 
muscular  strength  that  remained  to  me.  From  the  top  of  the 
hill  I  could  overlook  a  wide  extent  of  desolate  and  unbroken 
prairie,  over  wrhich,  far  and  near,  little  parties  of  naked 
horsemen  were  rapidly  passing.  I  soon  came  up  to  the  near- 
est, and  we  had  not  ridden  a  mile  before  all  were  united 
into  one  large  and  compact  body.  All  was  haste  and  eager- 
ness. Each  hunter  was  whipping  on  his  horse  as  if  anxious 
to  be  the  first  to  reach  the  game.  In  such  movements  among 
the  Indians  this  is  always  more  or  less  the  case ;  but  it  was 
especially  so  in  the  present  instance,  because  the  head  chief 
of  the  village  was  absent,  and  there  were  but  few  "soldiers," 
a  sort  of  Indian  police,  who  among  their  other  functions 
usually  assume  the  direction  of  a  buffalo  hunt.  No  man 
turned  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  left.  We  rode  at  a  swift 
canter  straight  forward,  uphill  and  downhill,  and  through 
the  stiff,  obstinate  growth  of  the  endless  wild-sage  bushes. 
For  an  hour  and  a  half  the  same  red  shoulders,  the  same 
long  black  hair  rose  and  fell  with  the  motion  of  the  horses 
before  me.  Very  little  was  said,  though  once  I  observed  an 
old  man  severely  reproving  Raymond  for  having  left  his 
rifle  behind  him,  when  there  was  some  probability  of  encoun- 
tering an  enemy  before  the  day  was  over.  As  we  galloped 
across  the  plain  thickly  set  with  sage  bushes,  the  foremost 
riders  vanished  suddenly  from  sight,  as  if  diving  into  the 


238  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

earth.  The  arid  soil  was  cracked  into  a  deep  ravine.  Down 
we  all  went  in  succession  and  galloped  in  a  line  along  the 
bottom,  until  we  found  a  point  where,  one  by  one,  the  horses 
could  scramble  out.  Soon  after,  we  came  upon  a  wide 
shallow  stream,  and  as  we  rode  swiftly  over  the  hard  sand- 
beds  and  through  the  thin  sheets  of  rippling  water,  many  of 
the  savage  horsemen  threw  themselves  to  the  ground,  knelt 
on  the  sand,  snatched  a  hasty  draught,  and  leaping  back 
again  to  their  seats  galloped  on  again  as  before. 

Meanwhile  scouts  kept  in  advance  of  the  party ;  and  no\v 
we  began  to  see  them  on  the  ridge  of  the  hills,  waving  their 
robes  in  token  that  buffalo  were  visible.  These  however 
proved  to  be  nothing  more  than  old  straggling  bulls,  feeding 
upon  the  neighboring  plains,  who  would  stare  for  a  moment 
at  the  hostile  array  and  then  gallop  clumsily  off.  At  length 
we  could  discern  several  of  these  scouts  making  their  signals 
to  us  at  once;  no  longer  waving  their  robes  boldly  from  the 
top  of  the  hill,  but  standing  lower  down,  so  that  they  could 
not  be  seen  from  the  plains  beyond.  Game  worth  pursuing 
had  evidently  been  discovered.  The  excited  Indians  now 
urged  forward  their  tired  horses  even  more  rapidly  than 
before.  Pauline,  who  was  still  sick  and  jaded,  began  to 
groan  heavily,  and  her  yellow  sides  were  darkened  with  sweat. 
As  we  were  crowding  together  over  a  lower  intervening  hill, 
I  heard  Reynal  and  Raymond  shouting  to  me  from  the  left; 
and  looking  in  that  direction,  I  saw  them  riding  away  behind 
a  party  of  about  twenty  mean-looking  Indians.  These  were 
the  relatives  of  Reynal's  squaw  Margot,  who,  not  wishing 
to  take  part  in  the  general  hunt,  were  riding  toward  a  distant 
hollow,  where  they  could  discern  a  small  band  of  buffalo 
which  they  meant  to  appropriate  to  themselves.  I  answered 
to  the  call  by  ordering  Raymond  to  turn  back  and  follow 
me.  He  reluctantly  obeyed,  though  Reynal,  who  had  relied 
on  his  assistance  in  skinning,  cutting  up,  and  carrying  to  camp 
the  buffalo  that  he  and  his  party  should  kill,  loudly  protested 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  239 

and  declared  that  we  should  see  no  sport  if  we  went  with 
the  rest  of  the  Indians.  Followed  by  Raymond  I  pursued 
the  main  body  of  hunters,  while  Reynal  in  a  great  rage 
whipped  his  horse  over  the  hill  after  his  ragamuffin  relatives. 
The  Indians,  still  about  a  hundred  in  number,  rode  in  a 
dense  body  at  some  distance  in  advance.  They  galloped 
forward,  and  a  cloud  of  dust  was  flying  in  the  wind  behind 
them.  I  could  not  overtake  them  until  they  had  stopped  on 
the  side  of  the  hill  where  the  scouts  were  standing.  Here 
each  hunter  sprang  in  haste  from  the  tired  animal  which  he 
had  ridden,  and  leaped  upon  the  fresh  horse  that  he  had 
brought  with  him.  There  was  not  a  saddle  or  a  bridle  in 
the  whole  party.  A  piece  of  buffalo  robe  girthed  over  the 
horse's  back  served  in  the  place  of  the  one,  and  a  cord  of 
twisted  hair  lashed  firmly  round  his  lower  jaw  answered  for 
the  other.  Eagle  feathers  were  dangling  from  every  mane 
and  tail,  as  insignia  of  courage  and  speed.  As  for  the  rider, 
he  wore  no  other  clothing  than  a  light  cincture  at  his  waist, 
and  a  pair  of  moccasins.  He  had  a  heavy  whip,  with  a 
handle  of  solid  elk-horn  and  a  lash  of  knotted  bull-hide, 
fastened  to  his  wrist  by  an  ornamental  band.  His  bow  was 
in  his  hand,  and  his  quiver  of  otter  or  panther  skin  hung  at 
his  shoulder.  Thus  equipped,  some  thirty  of  the  hunters  gal- 
loped away  toward  the  left,  in  order  to  make  a  circuit  under 
cover  of  the  hills,  that  the  buffalo  might  be  assailed  on  both 
sides  at  once.  The  rest  impatiently  waited  until  time  enough 
had  elapsed  for  their  companions  to  reach  the  required  posi- 
tion. Then  riding  upward  in  a  body,  we  gained  the  ridge 
of  the  hill,  and  for  the  first  time  came  in  sight  of  the  buffalo 
on  the  plain  beyond. 

They  were  a  band  of  cows,  four  or  five  hundred  in  num- 
ber, who  were  crowded  together  near  the  bank  of  a  wide 
stream  that  was  soaking  across  the  sand-beds  of  the  valley. 
This  was  a  large  circular  basin,  sun-scorched  and  broken, 
scantily  covered  with  herbage  and  encompassed  with  high 


240  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

barren  hills,  from  an  opening  in  which  we  could  see  our 
allies  galloping  out  upon  the  plain.  The  wind  blew  from 
that  direction.  The  buffalo  were  aware  of  their  approach, 
and  had  begun  to  move,  though  very  slowly  and  in  a  compact 
mass.  I  have  no  further  recollection  of  seeing  the  game 
until  we  were  in  the  midst  of  them,  for  as  we  descended 
the  hill  other  objects  engrossed  my  attention.  Numerous  old 
bulls  were  scattered  over  the  plain,  and  ungallantly  deserting 
their  charge  at  our  approach,  began  to  wade  and  plunge 
through  the  treacherous  quicksands  of  the  stream,  and  gallop 
away  toward  the  hills.  One  old  veteran  was  struggling 
behind  all  the  rest  with  one  of  his  forelegs,  which  had  been 
broken  by  some  accident,  dangling  about  uselessly  at  his 
side.  His  appearance,  as  he  went  shambling  along  on  three 
legs,  was  so  ludicrous  that  I  could  not  help  pausing  for  a 
moment  to  look  at  him.  As  I  came  near,  he  would  try  to 
rush  upon  me,  nearly  throwing  himself  down  at  every  awk- 
ward attempt.  Looking  up,  I  saw  the  whole  body  of  Indians 
full  a  hundred  yards  in  advance.  I  lashed  Pauline  in  pur- 
suit and  reached  them  just  in  time;  for  as  we  mingled  among 
them,  each  hunter,  as  if  by  a  common  impulse,  violently 
struck  his  horse,  each  horse  sprang  forward  convulsively,  and 
scattering  in  the  charge  in  order  to  assail  the  entire  herd 
at  once,  we  all  rushed  headlong  upon  the  buffalo.  We  were 
among  them  in  an  instant.  Amid  the  trampling  and  the 
yells  I  could  see  their  dark  figures  running  hither  and  thither 
through  clouds  of  dust,  and  the  horsemen  darting  in  pursuit. 
While  we  were  charging  on  one  side,  our  companions  had 
attacked  the  bewildered  and  panic-stricken  herd  on  the  other. 
The  uproar  and  confusion  lasted  but  for  a  moment.  The 
dust  cleared  away,  and  the  buffalo  could  be  seen  scattering 
as  from  a  common  center,  flying  over  the  plain  singly,  or  in 
long  files  and  small  compact  bodies,  while  behind  each  fol- 
lowed the  Indians,  lashing  their  horses  to  furious  speed,  forc- 
ing them  close  upon  their  prey,  and  yelling  as  they  launched 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  241 

arrow  after  arrow  into  their  sides.  The  large  black  carcasses 
were  strewn  thickly  over  the  ground.  Here  and  there 
wounded  buffalo  were  standing,  their  bleeding  sides  feathered 
with  arrows;  and  as  I  rode  past  them  their  eyes  would  glare, 
they  would  bristle  like  gigantic  cats,  and  feebly  attempt  to 
rush  up  and  gore  my  horse. 

I  left  camp  that  morning  with  a  philosophic  resolution. 
Neither  I  nor  my  horse  were  at  that  time  fit  for  such  sport, 
and  I  had  determined  to  remain  a  quiet  spectator;  but  amid 
the  rush  of  horses  and  buffalo,  the  uproar  and  the  dust,  I 
found  it  impossible  to  sit  still ;  and  as  four  or  five  buffalo  ran 
past  me  in  a  line,  I  drove  Pauline  in  pursuit.  We  went 
plunging  close  at  their  heels  through  the  water  and  the  quick- 
sands, and  clambering  the  bank,  chased  them  through  the 
wild-sage  bushes  that  covered  the  rising  ground  beyond.  But 
neither  her  native  spirit  nor  the  blows  of  the  knotted  bull-hide 
could  supply  the  place  of  poor  Pauline's  exhausted  strength. 
We  could  not  gain  an  inch  upon  the  poor  fugitives.  At  last, 
however,  they  came  full  upon  a  ravine  too  wide  to  leap  over  ; 
and  as  this  compelled  them  to  turn  abruptly  to.  the  left,  I  con- 
trived to  get  within  ten  or  twelve  yards  of  the  hindmost.  At 
this  she  faced  about,  bristled  angrily,  and  made  a  show  of 
charging.  I  shot  at  her  with  a  large  holster  pistol,  and  hit  her 
somewhere  in  the  neck.  Down  she  tumbled  into  the  ravine, 
whither  her  companions  had  descended  before  her.  I  saw 
their  dark  backs  appearing  and  disappearing  as  they  galloped 
along  the  bottom;  then,  one  by  one,  they  came  scrambling 
out  on  the  other  side  and  ran  off  as  before,  the  wounded  ani- 
mal following  with  unabated  speed. 

Turning  back,  I  saw  Raymond  coming  on  his  black  mule 
to  meet  me;  and  as  we  rode  over  the  field  together,  we 
counted  dozens  of  carcasses  lying  on  the  plain,  in  the  ravines, 
and  on  the  sandy  bed  of  the  stream.  Far  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, horses  and  buffalo  were  still  scouring  along,  with  little 
clouds  of  dust  rising  behind  them;  and  over  the  sides  of  the 


242  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

hills  we  could  see  long  files  of  the  frightened  animals  rapidly 
ascending.  The  hunters  began  to  return.  The  boys,  who 
had  held  the  horses  behind  the  hiU,  made  their  appearance, 
and  the  work  of  flaying  and  cutting  up  began  in  earnest  all 
over  the  field.  I  noticed  my  host  Kongra-Tonga  beyond  the 
stream,  just  alighting  by  the  side  of  a  cow  which  he  had 
killed.  Riding  up  to  him  I  found  him  in  the  act  of  drawing 
out  an  arrow,  which  with  the  exception  of  the  notch  at  the 
end,  had  entirely  disappeared  in  the  animal.  I  asked  him  to 
give  it  to  me,  and  I  still  retain  it  as  a  proof,  though  by  no 
means  the  most  striking  one  that  could  be  offered,  of  the 
force  and  dexterity  with  which  the  Indians  discharged  their 
arrows. 

The  hides  and  meat  were  piled  upon  the  horses,  and  the 
hunters  began  to  leave  the  ground.  Raymond  and  I,  too, 
getting  tired  of  the  scene,  set  out  for  the  village,  riding 
straight  across  the  intervening  desert.  There  was  no  path, 
and  as  far  as  I  could  see,  no  landmarks  sufficient  to  guide 
us;  but  Raymond  seemed  to  have  an  instinctive  perception 
of  the  point  on  the  horizon  toward  which  we  ought  to  direct 
our  course.  Antelope  were  bounding  on  all  sides,  and  as 
is  always  the  case  in  the  presence  of  buffalo,  they  seemed  to 
have  lost  their  natural  shyness  and  timidity.  Bands  of 
them  would  run  lightly  up  the  rocky  declivities,  and  stand 
gazing  down  upon  us  from  the  summit.  At  length  we  could 
distinguish  the  tall  white  rocks  and  the  old  pine  trees  that, 
as  we  well  remembered,  were  just  above  the  site  of  the 
encampment.  Still,  we  could  see  nothing  of  the  village 
itself  until,  ascending  a  grassy  hill,  we  found  the  circle  of 
lodges,  dingy  with  storms  and  smoke,  standing  on  the  plain 
at  our  very  feet. 

I  entered  the  lodge  of  my  host.  His  squaw  instantly 
brought  me  food  and  water,  and  spread  a  buffalo  robe  for 
me  to  lie  upon ;  and  being  much  fatigued,  I  lay  down  and  fell 
asleep.  In  about  an  hour  the  entrance  of  Kongra-Tonga, 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  243 

with  his  arms  smeared  with  blood  to  the  elbows,  awoke  me. 
He  sat  down  in  his  usual  seat  on  the  left  side  of  the  lodge. 
His  squaw  gave  him  a  vessel  of  water  for  washing,  set 
before  him  a  bowl  of  boiled  meat,  and  as  he  was  eating 
pulled  off  his  bloody  moccasins  and  placed  fresh  ones  on  his 
feet;  then  outstretching  his  limbs,  my  host  composed  him- 
self to  sleep. 

And  now  the  hunters,  two  or  three  at  a  time,  began  to 
come  rapidly  in,  and  each,  consigning  his  horse  to  the  squaws, 
entered  his  lodge  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose  day's  work 
was  done.  The  squaws  flung  down  the  load  from  the 
burdened  horses,  and  vast  piles  of  meat  and  hides  were  soon 
accumulated  before  every  lodge.  By  this  time  it  was  darken- 
ing fast,  and  the  whole  village  was  illumined  by  the  glare 
of  fires  blazing  all  around.  All  the  squaws  and  children 
were  gathered  about  the  piles  of  meat,  exploring  them  in 
search  of  the  daintiest  portions.  Some  of  these  they  roasted 
on  sticks  before  the  fires,  but  often  they  dispensed  with  this 
superfluous  operation.  Late  into  the  night  the  fires  were 
still  glowing  upon  the  groups  of  feasters  engaged  in  this 
savage  banquet  around  them. 

Several  hunters  sat  down  by  the  fire  in  Kongra-Tonga's 
lodge  to  talk  over  the  day's  exploits.  Among  the  rest,  Mene- 
Seela  came  in.  Though  he  must  have  seen  full  eighty  win- 
ters, he  had  taken  an  active  share  in  the  day's  sport.  He 
boasted  that  he  had  killed  two  cow^s  that  morning,  and  would 
have  killed  a  third  if  the  dust  had  not  blinded  him  so  that  he 
had  to  drop  his  bow  and  arrows  and  press  both  hands  against 
his  eyes  to  stop  the  pain.  The  firelight  fell  upon  his  wrinkled 
face  and  shriveled  figure  as  he  sat  telling  his  story  with  such 
inimitable  gesticulation  that  every  man  in  the  lodge  broke 
into  a  laugh. 

Old  Mene-Seela  was  one  of  the  few  Indians  in  the  vil- 
lage with  whom  I  would  have  trusted  myself  alone  without 
suspicion,  and  the  only  one  from  whom  I  would  have  received 


244  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

a  gift  or  a  service  without  the  certainty  that  it  proceeded 
from  an  interested  motive.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  the 
whites.  He  liked  to  be  in  their  society,  and  was  very  vain  \ 
of  the  favors  he  had  received  from  them.  He  told  me  one 
afternoon,  as  we  were  sitting  together  in  his  son's  lodge, 
that  he  considered  the  beaver  and  the  whites  the  wisest  people 
on  earth;  indeed,  he  was  convinced  they  were  the  same;  and 
an  incident  which  had  happened  to.  him  long  before  had 
assured  him  of  this.  So  he  began  the  following  story,  and  as 
the  pipe  passed  in  turn  to  him,  Reynal  availed  himself  of  these 
interruptions  to  translate  what  had  preceded.  But  the  old 
man  accompanied  his  words  with  such  admirable  pantomime 
that  translation  was  hardly  necessary. 

He  said  that  when  he  was  very  young,  and  had  never 
yet  seen  a  white  man,  he  and  three  or  four  of  his  companions 
were  out  on  a  beaver  hunt,  and  he  crawled  into  a  large 
beaver  lodge  to  examine  what  was  there.  Sometimes  he  was 
creeping  on  his  hands  and  knees,  sometimes  he  was  obliged 
to  swim,  and  sometimes  to  lie  flat  on  his  face  and  drag  him- 
self along.  In  this  way  he  crawled  a  great  distance  under- 
ground. It  was  very  dark,  cold,  and  close,  so  that  at  last  he 
was  almost  suffocated,  and  fell  into  a  swoon.  When  he 
began  to  recover,  he  could  just  distinguish  the  voices  of  his 
companions  outside,  who  had  given  him  up  for  lost  and  were 
singing  his  death  song.  At  first  he  could  see  nothing,  but 
soon  he  discerned  something  white  before  him,  and  at  length 
plainly  distinguished  three  people,  entirely  white,  one  man 
and  two  women,  sitting  at  the  edge  of  a  black  pool  of  water'. 
He  became  alarmed  and  thought  it  high  time  to  retreat. 
Having  succeeded  after  great  trouble  in  reaching  daylight 
again,  he  went  straight  to  the  spot  directly  above  the  pool  of 
water  where  he  had  seen  the  three  mysterious  beings.  Here 
he  beat  a  hole  with  his  war  club  in  the  ground  and  sat  down 
to  watch.  In  a  moment  the  nose  of  an  old  male  beaver 
appeared  at  the  opening.  Mene-Seela  instantly  seized  him 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  245 

and  dragged  him  up,  when  two  other  beavers,  both  females, 
thrust  out  their  heads,  and  these  he  served  in  the  same  way. 
"These,"  continued  the  old  man,  "must  have  been  the  three 
white  people  whom  I  saw  sitting  at  the  edge  of  the  water/' 

Mene-Seela  was  the  grand  depository  of  the  legends  and 
traditions  of  the  village.  I  succeeded,  however,  in  getting 
from  him  only  a  few  fragments.  Like  all  Indians,  he  was 
excessively  superstitious,  and  continually  saw  some  reason  for 
withholding  his  stories.  "It  is  a  bad  thing,"  he  would  say, 
"to  tell  the  tales  in  summer.  Stay  with  us  till  next  winter, 
and  I  will  tell  you  everything  I  know;  but  now  our  war 
parties  are  going  out,  and  our  young  men  will  be  killed  if  I 
sit  down  to  tell  stories  before  the  frost  begins." 

But  to  leave  this  digression.  We  remained  encamped 
on  this  spot  five  days,  during  three  of  which  the  hunters 
were  at  work  incessantly,  and  immense  quantities  of  meat 
and  hides  were  brought  in.  Great  alarm,  however,  prevailed 
in  the  village.  All  were  on  the  alert.  The  young  men  were 
ranging  through  the  country  as  scouts,,  and  the  old  men 
paid  careful  attention  to  omens  and  prodigies,  and  especially 
to  their  dreams.  In  order  to  convey  to  the  enemy  (who, 
if  they  were  in  the  neighborhood,  must  inevitably  have  known 
of  our  presence)  the  impression  that  we  were  constantly  on 
the  watch,  piles  of  sticks  and  stones  were  erected  on  all  the 
surrounding  hills,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  appear  at  a  distance 
like  sentinels.  Often,  even  to  this  hour,  that  scene  will  rise 
before  my  mind  like  a  visible  reality :  the  tall  white  rocks ;  the 
old  pine  trees  on  their  summits;  the  sandy  stream  that  ran 
along  their  bases  and  half  encircled  the  village ;  and  the  wild- 
sage  bushes,  with  their  dull  green  hue  and  their  medicinal 
odor,  that  covered  all  the  neighboring  declivities.  Hour  after 
hour  the  squaws  would  pass  and  repass  with  their  vessels  of 
water  between  the  stream  and  the  lodges.  For  the  most  part 
no  one  was  to  be  seen  in  the  camp  but  women  and  children, 
two  or  three  superannuated  old  men,  and  a  few  lazy  and 


246  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

worthless  young  ones.     These,  together  with  the  clogs,  now 
grown  fat  and  good-natured  with  the  abundance  in  the  camp, 
were  its  only  tenants.     Still  it  presented  a  busy  and  bustling 
scene.     In  all  quarters  the  meat,  hung  on  cords  of  hide,  was! 
drying  in  the  sun,  and  around  the  lodges  the  squaws,  youngl 
and  old,  were  laboring  on  the  fresh  hides  that  were  stretched 
upon  the  ground,  scraping  the  hair  from  one  side  and  the 
still  adhering  flesh  from  the  other,  and  rubbing  into  them  the 
brains  of  the  buffalo  in  order  to  render  them  soft  and  pliant. 

In  mercy  to  myself  and  my  horse,  I  never  went  out  with 
the  hunters  after  the  first  day.  Of  late,  however,  I  had  been 
gaining  strength  rapidly,  as  was  always  the  case  upon  every 
respite  of  my  disorder.  I  was  soon  able  to  walk  with  ease.  3 
Raymond  and  I  would  go  out  upon  the  neighboring  prairies 
to  shoot  antelope,  or  sometimes  to  assail  straggling  buffalo, 
on  foot,  an  attempt  in  which  we  met  with  rather  indifferent  3 
success.  To  kill  a  bull  with  a  rifle-ball  is  a  difficult  art,  in 
the  secret  of  which  I  was  as  yet  very  imperfectly  initiated.  As 
I  came  out  of  Kongra-Tonga's  lodge  one  morning,  Reynal 
called  to  me  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  village,  and  asked 
me  over  to  breakfast.  The  breakfast  was  a  substantial  one. 
It  consisted  of  the  rich,  juicy  hump-ribs  of  a  fat  cow,  a  repast 
absolutely  unrivaled.  It  was  roasting  before  the  fire,  impaled 
upon  a  stout  stick  which  Reynal  took  up  and  planted  in  the 
ground  before  his  lodge ;  when  he,  with  Raymond  and  myself, 
taking  our  seats  around  it,  unsheathed  our  knives  and  assailed 
it  with  good  will.  In  spite  of  all  medical  experience,  this 
solid  fare,  without  bread  or  salt,  seemed  to  agree  with  me 
admirably. 

"We  shall  have  strangers  here  before  night,"  said  Reynal. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  I  asked. 

"I  dreamed  so.  I  am  as  good  at  dreaming  as  an  Indian. 
There  is  the  Hail-Storm;  he  dreamed  the  same  thing,  and 
he  and  his  crony,  the  Rabbit,  have  gone  out  on  discovery." 

I  laughed  at  Reynal  for  his  credulity,  went  over  to  my 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  24V 

host's  lodge,  took  down  my  rifle,  walked  out  a  mile  or  two  on 
the  prairie,  saw  an  old  bull  standing  alone,  crawled  up  a 
ravine,  shot  him,  and  saw  him  escape.  Then,  quite  exhausted 
and  rather  ill-humored,  I  walked  back  to  the  village.  By 
a  strange  coincidence,  Reynal's  prediction  had  been  verified; 
for  the  first  persons  whom  I  saw  were  the  two  trappers, 
Rouleau  and  Saraphin,  coming  to  meet  me.  These  men, 
as  the  reader  may  possibly  recollect,  had  left  our  party  about 
a  fortnight  before.  They  had  been  trapping  for  a  while 
among  the  Black  Hills,  and  were  now  on  .their  way  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  intending  in  a  day  or  two  to  set  out  for  the 
neighboring  Medicine  Bow.  They  were  not  the  most  ele- 
gant or  refined  of  companions,  yet  they  made  a  very  welcome 
addition  to  the  limited  society  of  the  village.  For  the  rest  of 
that  day  we  lay  smoking  and  talking  in  Reynal's  lodge.  This 
indeed  was  no  better  than  a  little  hut,  made  of  hides  stretched 
on  poles,  and  entirely  open  in  front.  It  was  well  carpeted 
with  soft  buffalo  robes,  and  here  we  remained,  sheltered  from 
the  sun,  surrounded  by  various  domestic  utensils  of  Madame 
Margot's  household.  All  was  quiet  in  the  village.  Though 
the  hunters  had  not  gone  out  that  day,  they  lay  sleeping  in 
their  lodges,  and  most  of  the  women  were  silently  engaged  in 
their  heavy  tasks.  A  few  young  men  were  playing  at  a  lazy 
game  of  bali  in  the  center  of  the  village;  and  when  they 
became  tired,  some  girls  supplied  their  place  with  a  more 
boisterous  sport.  At  a  little  distance  among  the  lodges,  some 
children  and  half-grown  squaws  were  playfully  tossing  up 
one  of  their  number  in  a  buffalo  robe,  an  exact  counterpart 
of  the  ancient  pastime  from  which  Sancho  Panza1  suffered 
so  much.  Farther  out  on  the  prairie,  a  host  of  little  naked 
boys  were  roaming  about,  engaged  in  various  rough  games 
or  pursuing  birds  and  ground-squirrels  with  their  bows  .and 

1The  squire  of  Cervant<-s's  Don  Quixote,  noted  for  his  shrewdness  and  his 
proverbial  sayings.  His*  master  having  refused  to  pay  for  accommodations  at  an 
inn,  nine  "arch,  merry,  unlucky,  and  frolicsome  fellows"  tossed  Sancho  in  a 
blanket  by  way  of  revenge.  See  Don  Quixote,  Bk.  Ill,  Ch.  Ill , 


248  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

arrows;  and  woe  to  the  unhappy  little  animals  that  fell  into 
their  merciless,  torture-loving  hands !    A  squaw  from  the  next  i 
lodge,  a  notable  active  housewife  named  Weah  Washtay,  or 
the  good  woman,  brought  us  a  large  bowl  of  wasna,  and 
went  into  an  ecstasy  of  delight  when  I  presented  her  with  a ; 
green  glass  ring,  such  as  I  usually  wore  with  a  view  to  similar 
occasions. 

The  sun  went  down  and  half  the  sky  was  growing  fiery 
red,  reflected  on  the  little  stream  as  it  wound  away  among 
the  sage  bushes.  Some  young  men  left  the  village,  and  soon 
returned  driving  in  before  them  all  the  horses,  hundreds  in 
number  and  of  every  size,  age,  and  color.  The  hunters  came 
out,  and  each  securing  those  that  belonged  to  him,  examined 
their  condition,  and  tied  them  fast  by  long  cords  to  'stakes 
driven  in  front  of  his  lodge.  It  was  half  an  hour  before  the 
bustle  subsided  and  tranquillity  was  restored  again.  By  this 
time  it  was  nearly  dark.  Kettles  were  hung  over  the  blazing 
fires,  around  which  the  squaws  were  gathered  with  their 
children,  laughing  and  talking  merrily.  A  circle  of  a  different 
kind  was  formed  in  the  center  of  the  village.  This  was  com- 
posed of  the  old  men  and  warriors  of  repute,  who  with  their 
white  buffalo  robes  drawn  close  around  their  shoulders,  sat 
together,  and  as  the  pipe  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  their 
conversation  had  not  a  particle  of  the  gravity  and  reserve 
usually  ascribed  to  Indians.  I  sat  down  with  them  as  usual. 
I  had  in  my  hand  half  a  dozen  squibs  and  serpents,  which  I 
had  made  one  day  when  encamped  upon  Laramie  Creek,  out 
of  gunpowder  and  charcoal,  and  the  leaves  of  "Fremont's 
Expedition"1  rolled  round  a  stout  lead-pencil.  I  waited  till 
I  contrived  to  get  hold  of  the  large  piece  of  burning  bois  de 
vache  which  the  Indians  kept  by  them  on  the  ground  for 
lighting  their  pipes.  With  this  I  lighted  all  the  fireworks 
at  once,  and  tossed  them  whizzing  and  sputtering  into  the 

JJohn  C.  Fr&nont's  Report  of  the  Exploring  Expedition  to  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
1842,  and  to  Oregon  and  North  California,  1843-44,  published  in  1845. 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  249 


air,  over  the  heads  of  the  company.  They  all  jumped  up 
and  ran  off  with  yelps  of  astonishment  and  consternation. 
After  a  moment  or  two,  they  ventured  to  come  back  one  by 
one,  and  some  of  the  boldest,  picking  up  the  cases  of  burnt 
paper  that  were  scattered  about,  examined  them  with  eager 
curiosity  to  discover  their  mysterious  secret.  From  that  time 
forward  I  enjoyed  great  repute  as  a  "fire-medicine. " 

The  camp  was  filled  with  the  low  hum  of  cheerful 
voices.  There  were  other  sounds,  however,  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent kind ;  for  frorr  £  largt  lodge,  lighted  up  like  a  gigantic 
lantern  by  the  Mazing  fire  within,  came  a  chorus  of  dismal 
cries  and  wailings,  long  drawn  out  like  the  howling  of 
wolves,  and  a  woman,  almost  naked,  was  crouching  close 
outside,  crying  violently  and  gashing  her  legs  with  a  knife 
till  they  were  covered  with  blood.  Just  a  year  before,  a 
young  man  belonging  to  this  family  had  gone  out  with  a 
war  party  and  had  been  slain  by  the  enemy,  and  his  relatives 
were  thus  lamenting  his  loss.  Still  other  sounds  might  be 
heard ;  loud  earnest  cries  often  repeated  from  amid  the 
gloom,  at  a  distance  beyond  the  village.  They  proceeded 
from  some  young  men  who,  being  about  to  set  out  in  a  few 
days  on  a  warlike  expedition,  were  standing  at  the  top  of  a 
hill  calling  on  the  Great  Spirit  to  aid  them  in  their  enter- 
prise. While  I  was  listening,  Rouleau,  with  a  laugh  on  his 
careless  face,  called  to  me  and  directed  my  attention  to 
another  quarter.  In  front  of  the  lodge  where  Weah  Wash- 
tay  lived  another  squaw  was  standing,  angrily  scolding  an 
old  yellow  dog,  who  lay  on  the  ground  with  his  nose  resting 
between  his  paws  and  his  eyes  turned  sleepily  up  to  her  face, 
as  if  he  were  pretending  to  give  respectful  attention,  but 
resolved  to  fall  asleep  as  soon  as  it  was  all  over. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself!"  said  the  old 
woman.  "I  have  fed  you  well,  and  taken  care  of  you  ever 
since  you  were  small  and  blind,  and  could  only  crawl  about 
and  squeal  a  little,  instead  of  howling  as  you  do  now. 


250  THE  OREGON  TRAI-L 

When  you  grew  old,  I  said  you  were  a  good  dog.  You 
were  strong  and  gentle  when  the  load  wras  put  on  your 
back,  and  you  never  ran  among  the  feet  of  the  horses  when 
we  were  all  traveling  together  over  the  prairie.  But  you 
had  a  bad  heart!  Whenever  a  rabbit  jumped  out  of  the 
bushes,  you  were  always  the  first  to  run  after  him  and  lead 
away  all  the  other  dogs  behind  you.  You  ought  to  have 
known  that  it  was  very  dangerous  to  act  so.  When  you  had 
got  far  out  on  the  prairie,  and  no  one  was  near  to  help  you, 
perhaps  a  wolf  would  jump  out  of  the  ravine;  and  then 
what  could  you  do?  You  would  certainly  have  been  killed, 
for  no  dog  can  fight  well  with  a  load  on  his  back.  Only 
three  days  ago  you  ran  off  in  that  way,  and  turned  over  the 
bag  of  wooden  pins  with  which  I  used  to  fasten  up  the  front 
of  the  lodge.  Look  up  there,  and  you  will  see  that  it  is  all 
flapping  open.  And  now  to-night  you  have  stolen  a  great 
piece  of  fat  meat  which  was  roasting  before  the  fire  for  my  chil- 
dren. I  tell  you,  you  have  a  bad  heart,  and  you  must  die!" 

So  saying,  the  squaw  went  into  the  lodge,  and  coming 
out  with  a  large  stone  mallet,  killed  the  unfortunate  dog  at 
one  blow.  This  speech  is  worthy  of  notice  as  illustrating  a 
curious  characteristic  of  the  Indians:  the  ascribing  intelli- 
gence and  a  power  of  understanding  speech  to  the  inferior 
animals,  to  whom,  indeed,  according  to  many  of  their  tra- 
ditions, they  are  linked  in  close  affinity,  and  they  even  claim 
the  honor  of  a  lineal  descent  from  bears,  wolves,  deer,  or 
tortoises. 

As  it  grew  late,  and  the  crowded  population  began  to 
disappear,  I  too  walked  across  the  village  to  the  lodge  of 
my  host,  Kongra-Tonga.  As  I  entered  I  saw  him,  by  the 
flickering  blaze  of  the  fire  in  the  center,  reclining  half  asleep 
in  his  usual  place.  His  couch  was  by  no  means  an  uncom- 
fortable one.  It  consisted  of  soft  buffalo  robes  laid  together 
on  the  ground,  and  a  pillow  made  of  whitened  deerskin 
stuffed  with  feathers  and  ornamented  with  beads.  At  his 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  251 

back  was  a  light  framework  of  poles  and  slender  reeds, 
against  which  he  could  lean  with  ease  when  in  a  sitting 
posture;  and  at  the  top  of  it,  just  above  his  head,  his  bow 
and  quiver  were  hanging.  His  squaw,  a  laughing,  broad- 
faced  woman,  apparently  had  not  yet  completed  her  domestic 
arrangements,  for  she  was  bustling  about  the  lodge,  pulling 
over  the  utensils  and  the  bales  of  dried  meats  that  were 
ranged  carefully  round  it.  Unhappily,  she  and  her  partner 
were  not  the  only  tenants  of  the  dwelling,  for  half  a  dozen 
children  were  scattered  about,  sleeping  in  every  imaginable 
posture.  My  saddle  was  in  its  place  at  the  head  of  the  lodge 
and  a  buffalo  robe  was  spread  on  the  ground  before  it. 
Wrapping  myself  in  my  blanket  I  lay  down,  but  had  I  not 
been  extremely  fatigued  the  noise  in  the  next  lodge  would 
have  prevented  my  sleeping.  There  was  the  monotonous 
thumping  of  the  Indian  drum,  mixed  with  occasional  sharp 
yells,  and  a  chorus  chanted  by  twenty  voices.  A  grand  scene 
of  gambling  was  going  forward  with  all  the  appropriate, 
formalities.  The  players  were  staking  on  the  chance  issue 
of  the  game  their  ornaments,  their  horses,  and  as  the  excite- 
ment rose,  their  garments,  and  even  their  weapons;  for  des- 
perate gambling  is  not  confined  to  the  hells  of  Paris.  The 
men  of  the  plains  and  the  forests  no  less  resort  to  it  as  a 
violent  but  grateful  relief  to  the  tedious  monotony  of  their 
lives,  which  alternate  between  fierce  excitement  and  listless 
inaction.  I  fell  asleep  with  the  dull  notes  of  the  drum  still 
sounding  on  my  ear,  but  these  furious  orgies  lasted  without 
intermission  till  daylight.  I  was  soon  awakened  by  one  of 
the  children  crawling  over  me,  while  another  larger  one 
was  tugging  at  my  blanket  and  nestling  himself  in  a  very 
disagreeable  proximity.  I  immediately  repelled  these  advances 
by  punching  the  heads  of  these  miniature  savages  with  a 
short  stick  which  I  always  kept  by  me  for  the  purpose;  and 
as  sleeping  half  the  day  and  eating  much  more  than  is  good 
for  them  makes  them  extremely  restless,  this  operation  usu- 


252  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

ally  had  to  be  repeated  four  or  five  times  in  the  course  of  theW 
night.      My  host  himself  was  the  author  of  another  mosti 
formidable   annoyance.     All   these    Indians,   and   he   amongl 
the  rest,  think  themselves  bound  to  the  constant  performance  I 
of  certain  acts  as  the  condition  on  which  their  success  in  life! 
depends,  whether  in  war,  love,  hunting,  or  any  other  employ- 1 
ment.    These  "medicines,"  as  they  are  called  in  that  country,  I 
which  -are  usually  communicated  in  dreams,  are  often  absurd  i 
enough.      Some    Indians   will    strike   the    butt    of    the    pipe  I 
against  the  ground  every  time  they  smoke ;  others  will  insist  j 
that  everything  they  say  shall  be  interpreted  by  contraries; 
and    Shaw   once   met   an   old   man   who   conceived   that   all  ! 
would  be  lost  unless  he  compelled  every  white  man  he  met  to  1 
drink   a   bowl   of   cold   water.      My   host   was   particularly 
unfortunate  in  his  allotment.     The  Great   Spirit  had   told 
him  in  a  dream  that  he  must  sing  a  certain  song  in  the  mid- 
dle of  every  night;  and  regularly  at  about  twelve  o'clock 
.  his  dismal  monotonous  chanting  would  awaken  me,  and   I 
would  see  him  seated  bolt  upright  on  his  couch,  going  through 
his    dolorous    performances    with    a    most    business-like    air. 
There  were  other  voices  of  the  night  still  more  inharmonious. 
Twice  or  thrice,  between  sunset  and  dawn,  all  the  dogs  in 
the  village,   and  there  were  hundreds  of  them,  would  bay 
and  yelp  in  chorus;  a  most  horrible  clamor,  resembling  no 
sound  that  I  have  ever  heard,  except  perhaps  the  frightful 
howling   of  wolves   that   \ve   used   sometimes   to   hear   long 
afterward   when    descending   the   Arkansas   on   the   trail   of  > 
General  Kearny's  army.     The  canine  uproar  is,  if  possible, 
more  discordant  than  that  of  the  wolves.     Heard  at  a  dis- 
tance, slowly  rising  on  the  night,  it  has  a  strange  unearthly 
effect,  and  would  fearfully  haunt  the  dreams  of  a  nervous 
man ;  but  when  you  are  sleeping  in  the  midst  of  it  the  din 
is  outrageous.      One  long  loud  howl   from  the   next  lodge 
perhaps  begins  it,  and  voice  after  voice  takes  up  the  sound 
till  it  passes  around  the  whole  circumference  of  the  village, 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  253 

and  the  air  is  filled  with  confused  and  discordant  cries  at 
once  fierce  and  mournful.  It  lasts  but  for  a  moment  and 
then  dies  away  into  silence. 

Morning  came,  and  Kongra-Tonga,  mounting  his  horse, 
rode  out  with  the  hunters.  It  may  not  be  amiss  to  glance  at 
him  for  an  instant  in  his  domestic  character  of  husband  and 
father.  Both  he  and  his  squaw,  like  most  other  Indians, 
were  very  fond  of  their  children,  whom  they  indulged  to 
excess,  and  never  punished  except  in  extreme  cases,  when 
they  would  throw  a  bowl  of  cold  water  over  them.  Their 
offspring  became  sufficiently  undutiful  and  disobedient  under 
this  system  of  education,  which  tends  not  a  little  to  foster 
that  wild  idea  of  liberty  and  utter  intolerance  of  restraint 
which  lie  at  the  very  foundation  of  the  Indian  character.  It 
would  be  hard  to  find  a  fonder  father  than  Kongra-Tonga. 
There  was  one  urchin  in  particular,  rather  less  than  two 
feet  high,  to  whom  he  was  exceedingly  attached;  and  some- 
times spreading  a  buffalo  robe  in  the  lodge,  he  would  seat 
himself  upon  it,  place  his  small  favorite  upright  before  him, 
and  chant  in  a  low  tone  some  of  the  words  used  as  an  accom- 
paniment to  the  war  dance.  The  little  fellow,  who  could 
just  manage  to  balance  himself  by  stretching  out  both  arms, 
would  lift  his  feet  and  turn  slowly  round  and  round  in  time 
to  his  father's  music,  while  my  host  would  laugh  with  delight, 
and  look  smiling  up  into  my  face  to  see  if  I  were  admiring 
this  precocious  performance  of  his  offspring.  In  his  capacity 
of  husband  he  was  somewhat  less  exemplary.  The  squaw 
who  lived  in  the  lodge  with  him  had  been  his  partner  for 
many  years.  She  took  good  care  of  his  children  and  his 
household  concerns.  He  liked  her  well  enough,  and  as  far 
as  I  could  see,  they  never  quarreled;  but  all  his  warmer 
affections  were  reserved  for  younger  and  more  recent  favor- 
ites. Of  these  he  had  at  present  only  one,  who  lived  in  a 
lodge  apart  from  his  own.  One  day  while  in  his  camp  he 
became  displeased  with  her,  pushed  her  out,  threw  after  her 


254  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

her  ornaments,  dresses,  and  everything  she  had,  and  told 
her  to  go  home  to  her  father.  Having  consummated  this 
summary  divorce,  for  which  he  could  show  good  reasons,  he 
came  back,  seated  himself  in  his  usual  place,  and  began  to 
smoke  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  tranquillity  and  self-satisfac- 
tion. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  lodge  with  him  on  that  very  after- 
noon, when  I  felt  some  curiosity  to  learn  the  history  of  the 
/lumerous  scars  that  appeared  on  his  naked  body.  Of  some 
of  them,  however,  I  did  not  venture  to  inquire,  for  I  already 
understood  their  origin.  Each  of  his  arms  was  marked  as  if 
deeply  gashed  with  a  knife  at  regular  intervals,  and  there 
were  other  scars  also,  of  a  different  character,  on  his  back 
and  on  either  breast.  They  wrere  the  traces  of  those  formid- 
able tortures  which  these  Indians,  in  common  with  a  few 
other  tribes,  inflict  upon  themselves  at  certain  seasons ;  in 
part,  it  may  be,  to  gain  the  glory  of  courage  and  endurance, 
but  chiefly  as  an  act  of  self-sacrifice  to  secure  the  favor  of 
the  Great  Spirit.  The  scars  upon  the  breast  and  back  were 
produced  by  running  through  the  flesh  strong  splints  of 
\vood,  to  which  ponderous  buffalo-skulls  are  fastened  by 
cords  of  hide,  and  the  wretch  runs  forward  with  all  his 
strength,  assisted  by  two  companions,  who  take  hold  of  each 
arm,  until  the  flesh  tears  apart  and  the  heavy  loads  are  left 
behind.  Others  of  Kongra-Tonga's  scars  were  the  result 
of  accidents;  but  he  had  many  which  he  received  in  war. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  noted  warriors  in  the  village.  In 
the  course  of  his  life  he  had  slain,  as  he  boasted  to  me,  four- 
teen men;  and  though,  like  other  Indians,  he  was  a  great 
braggart  and  utterly  regardless  of  truth,  yet  in  this  state- 
ment common  report  bore  him  out.  Being  much  flattered  by 
my  inquiries,  he  told  me  tale  after  tale,  true  or  false,  of  his 
warlike  exploits ;  and  there  was  one  among  the  rest  illustrat- 
ing the  worst  features  of  the  Indian  character  too  well  for 
me  to  omit  it.  Pointing  out  of  the  opening  of  the  lodge 


THE  HWHNG  CAMP  255 

toward  the  Medicine-Bow  Mountain,  not  many  miles  dis- 
tant, he  said  that  he  was  there  a  few  summers  ago  with  a 
war  party  of  his  young  men.  Here  they  found  two  Snake, 
Indians,  hunting.  They  shot  one  of  them  with  arrows  and 
chased  the  other  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  till  they  sur- 
rounded him  on  a  level  place,  and  Kongra-Tonga  himself, 
jumping  forward  among  the  trees,  seized  him  by  the  arm. 
Two  of  his  young  men  then  ran  up  and  held  him  fast  while 
he  scalped  him  alive.  They  then  built  a  great  fire,  and  cut- 
ting the  tendons  of  their  captive's  wrists  and  feet,  threw  him 
in,  and  held  him  down  with  long  poles  until  he  was  burnt  to 
death.  He  garnished  his  story  with  a  great  many  descrip- 
tive particulars  much  too  revolting  to  mention.  His  features 
were  remarkably  mild  and  open,  without  the  fierceness  of 
expression  common  among  these  Indians;  and  as  he  detailed 
these  devilish  cruelties,  he  looked  up  into  my  face  with  the 
same  air  of  earnest  simplicity  which  a  little  child  would  wear 
in  relating  to  its  mother  some  anecdote  of  its  youthful  experi- 
ence. 

Old  Mene-Seela's  lodge  could  offer  another  illustration 
of  the  ferocity  of  Indian  warfare.  A  bright-eyed,  active 
little  boy  was  living  there.  He  had  belonged  to  a  village  of 
the  Gros  Ventre  Blackfeet,  a  small  but  bloody  and  treacher- 
ous band  in  close  alliance  with  the  Arapahoes.  About  a 
year  before,  Kongra-Tonga  and  a  party  of  warriors  had 
found  about  twenty  lodges  of  these  Indians  upon  the  plains 
a  little  to  the  eastward  of  our  present  camp ;  and  surround- 
ing them  in  the  night,  they  butchered  men,  women,  and 
children  without  mercy,  preserving  only  this  little  boy  alive. 
He  was  adopted  into  the  old  man's  family,  and  was  now 
fast  becoming  identified  with  the  Ogallala  children,  among 
whom  he  mingled  on  equal  terms.  There  was  also  a  Crow 
warrior  in  the  village,  a  man  of  gigantic  stature  and  most 
symmetrical  proportions.  Having  been  taken  prisoner  many 
years  before  and  adopted  by  a  squaw  in  place  of  a  son  whom 


256  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

she  had  lost-,  he  had  forgotten  his  old  national  antipathies, 
and  was  now  both  in  act  and  inclination  an  Ogallala. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  scheme  of  the  grand  war- 
like combination  against  the  Snake  and  Crow  Indians  origi- 
nated in  this  village;  and  though  this  plan  had  fallen  to  the 
ground,  the  embers  of  the  martial  ardor  continued  to  glow 
brightly.  Eleven  young  men  had  prepared  themselves  to  go 
out  against  the  enemy.  The  fourth  day  of  our  stay  in  this 
camp  was  fixed  upon  for  their  departure.  At  the  head  of  this 
party  was  a  well-built,  active  little  Indian  called  the  White 
Shield,  whom  I  had  always  noticed  for  the  great  neatness 
of  his  dress  and  appearance.  His  lodge,  too,  though  not  a 
large  one,  was  the  best  in  the  village,  his  squaw  was  one 
of  the  prettiest  girls,  and  altogether  his  dwelling  presented 
a  complete  model  of  an  Ogallala  domestic  establishment.  I 
was  often  a  visitor  there,  for  the  White  Shield  being  rather 
partial  to  white  men,  used  to  invite  me  to  continual  feasts 
at  all  hours  of  the  day.  Once  when  the  substantial  part  of 
the  entertainment  was  concluded,  and  he  and  I  were  seated 
cross-legged  on  a  buffalo  robe  smoking  together  very  ami- 
cably, he  took  down  his  warlike  equipments,  which  were 
hanging  around  the  lodge,  and  displayed  them  with  great 
pride  and  self-importance.  Among  the  rest  was  a  most  superb 
headdress  of  feathers.  Taking  this  from  its  case,  he  put  it 
on  and  stood  before  me,  as  if  conscious  of  the  gallant  air 
which  it  gave  to  his  dark  face  and  his  vigorous,  graceful 
figure.  He  told  me  that  upon  it  were  the  feathers  of  three 
war-eagles,  equal  in  value  to  the  same  number  of  good 
horses.  He  took  up  also  a  shield  gayly  painted  and  hung 
with  feathers.  The  effect  of  these  barbaric  ornaments  was 
admirable,  for  they  were  arranged  with  no  little  skill  and 
taste.  His  quiver  was  made  of  the  spotted  skin  of  a  small 
panther,  such  as  are  common  among  the  Black  Hills,  from 
which  the  tail  and  distended  claws  were  still  allowed  to  hang. 
The  White  Shield  concluded  his  entertainment  in  a  manner 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  257 

characteristic  of  an  Indian.  He  begged  of  me  a  little  powder 
and  ball,  for  he  had  a  gun  as  well  as  bow  and  arrows ;  but 
this  I  was  obliged  to  refuse,  because  I  had  scarcely  enough 
for  my  own  use.  Making  him,  however,  a  parting  present 
of  a  paper  of  vermilion,  I  left  him  apparently  quite  con- 
tented. 

Unhappily  on  the  next  morning  the  White  Shield  took 
cold  and  was  attacked  with  a  violent  inflammation  of  the 
throat.  Immediately  he  seemed  to  lose  all  spirit,  and  though 
before  no  warrior  in  the  village  had  borne  himself  more 
proudly,  he  now  moped  about  from  lodge  to  lodge  with  a 
forlorn  and  dejected  air.  At  length  he  came  and  sat  down, 
close  wrapped  in  his  robe,  before  the  lodge  of  Reynal,  but 
when  he  found  that  neither  he  nor  I  knew  how  to  relieve 
him,  he  arose  and  stalked  over  to  one  of  the  medicine-men 
of  the  village.  This  old  imposter  thumped  him  for  some 
time  with  both  fists,  howled  and  yelped  over  him,  and  beat 
a  drum  close  to  his  ear  to  expel  the  evil  spirit  that  had  taken 
possession  of  him.  This  vigorous  treatment  failing  of  the 
desired  effect,  the  White  Shield  withdrew  to  his  own  lodge, 
where  he  lay  disconsolate  for  some  hours.  Making  his 
appearance  once  more  in  the  afternoon,  he  again  took  his  seat 
on  the  ground  before  Reynal's  lodge,  holding  his  throat  with 
his  hand.  For  some  time  he  sat  perfectly  silent  with  his 
eyes  fixed  mournfully  on  the  ground.  At  last  he  began  to 
speak  in  a  low  tone : 

"I  am  a  brave  man,"  he  said ;  "all  the  young  men  think 
me  a  great  warrior,  and  ten  of  them  are  ready  to  go  with 
me  to  the  war.  I  will  go  and  show  them  the  enemy.  Last 
summer  the  Snakes  killed  my  brother.  I  cannot  live  unless 
I  revenge  his  death.  To-morrow  we  will  set  out  and  I  will 
take  their  scalps." 

The  White  Shield,  as  he  expressed  this  resolution,  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  the  accustomed  fire  and  spirit  of  his  look, 
and  hung  his  head  as  if  in  a  fit  of  despondency. 


258  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

As  I  was  sitting  that  evening  at  one  of  the  fires,  I  saw 
him  arrayed  in  his  splendid  war  dress,  his  cheeks  painted 
with  vermilion,  leading  his  favorite  war  horse  to  the  front  of 
his  lodge.  He  mounted  and  rode  round  the  village,  singing 
his  war  song  in  a  loud  hoarse  voice  amid  the  shrill  acclama- 
tions of  the  women.  Then  dismounting,  he  remained  for 
some  minutes  prostrate  upon  the  ground,  as  if  in  an  act  of 
supplication.  On  the  following  morning  I  looked  in  vain 
for  the  departure  of  the  warriors.  All  was  quiet  in  the  vil- 
lage until  late  in  the  forenoon,  when  the  White  Shield, 
issuing  from  his  lodge,  came  and  seated  himself  in  his  old 
place  before  us.  Reynal  asked  him  why  he  had  not  gone  out 
to  find  the  enemy. 

"I  cannot  go,"  answered  the  White  Shield  in  a  dejected 
voice.  "I  have  given  my  war  arrows  to  the  Meneaska." 

"You  have  only  given  him  two  of  your  arrows,"  said 
Reynal.  "If  you  ask  him,  he  will  give  them  back  again." 

For  some  time  the  White  Shield  said  nothing.  At  last 
he  spoke  in  a  gloomy  tone: 

"One  of  my  young  men  has  had  bad  dreams.  The  spirits 
of  the  dead  came  and  threw  stones  at  him  in  his  sleep." 

If  such  a  dream  had  actually  taken  place  it  might  have 
broken  up  this  or  any  other  war  party,  but  botrr  Reynal  and  I 
were  convinced  at  the  time  that  it  was  a  mere  fabrication 
to  excuse  his  remaining  at  home. 

The  White  Shield  was  a  warrior  of  noted  prowess.  Very 
probably  he  would  have  received  a  mortal  wound  without 
the  show  of  pain,  and  endured  without  flinching  the  worst 
tortures  that  an  enemy  could  inflict  upon  him.  The  whole 
power  of  an  Indian's  nature  would  be  summoned  to  encoun- 
ter such  a  trial;  every  influence  of  his  education  from  child- 
hood would  have  prepared  him  for  it;  the  cause  of  his  suffer- 
ing would  have  been  visibly  and  palpably  before  him,  and  his 
spirit  would  rise  to  set  his  enemy  at  defiance,  and  gain  the 
highest  glory  of  a  warrior  by  meeting  death  with  fortitude. 


THE  HUNTING  CAMP  259 

But  when  he  feels  himself  attacked  by  a  mysterious  evil, 
before  whose  insidious  assaults  his  manhood  is  wasted  and 
his  strength  drained  away,  when  he  can  see  no  enemy  to  resist 
and  defy,  the  boldest  warrior  falls  prostrate  at  once.  He 
believes  that  a  bad  spirit  has  taken  possession  of  him,  or  that 
he  is  the  victim  of  some  charm.  When  suffering  from  a  pro- 
tracted disorder,  an  Indian  will  often  abandon  himself  to  his 
supposed  destiny,  pine  away  and  die,  the  victim  of  his  own 
imagination.  The  same  effect  will  often  follow  from  a  series 
of  calamities,  or  a  long  run  of  ill  success,  and  the  sufferer 
has  been  known  to  ride  into  the  midst  of  an  enemy's  camp, 
or  attack  a  grizzly  bear  single-handed,  to  get  rid  of  a  life 
which  he  supposed  to  lie  under  the  doom  of  misfortune. 

Thus  after  all  his  fasting,  dreaming,  and  calling  upon  the 
Great  Spirit,  the  White  Shield's  war  party  was  pitifully 
broken  up. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  TRAPPERS 

In  speaking  of  the  Indians,  I  have  almost  forgotten  two 
bold  adventurers  of  another  race,  the  trappers  Rouleau  and 
Saraphin.  These  men  were  bent  on  a  most  hazardous  enter- 
prise. A  day's  journey  to  the  westward  was  the  country  over 
which  the  Arapahoes  are  accustomed  to  range,  and  for  which 
the  two  trappers  were  on  the  point  of  setting  out.  These 
Arapahoes,  of  whom  Shaw  and  I  afterward  fell  in  with  a 
large  village,  are  ferocious  barbarians,  of  a  most  brutal  and 
wolfish  aspect,  and  of  late  they  had  declared  themselves  ene- 
mies to  the  whites  and  threatened  death  to  the  first  who 
should  venture  within  their  territory.  The  occasion  of  the 
declaration  was  as  follows : 

In  the  previous  spring,  1845,  Colonel  Kearny  left  Fort 
Leavenworth  with  several  companies  of  dragoons,  and  march- 
ing with  extraordinary  celerity  reached  Fort  Laramie, 
whence  he  passed  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains  to  Bent's 
Fort,1  and  then,  turning  eastward  again,  returned  to  the  point 
from  whence  he  set  out.  ,  While  at  Fort  Laramie,  he  sent  a 
part  of  his  command  as  far  westward  as  Sweetwater,2  while 
he  himself  remained  at  the  fort  and  dispatched  messages 
to  the  surrounding  Indians  to  meet  him  there  in  council. 
Then  for  the  first  time  the  tribes  of  that  vicinity  saw  the  white 
warriors,  and,  as  might  have  been  expected,  they  were  lost  in 
astonishment  at  their  regular  order,  their  gay  attire,  the 
completeness  of  their  martial  equipment,  and  the  great  size 

Cent's  Fort,  or  Fort  William,  completed  in  1832,  was  located  about  twelve 
miles  northeast  of  the  present  Las  Animas,  Colorado,  where  the  Santa  F6  trail 
crossed  the  Arkansas  River.  During  the  Mexican  War  it  was  the  headquartere 
of  the  commissary  department  of  the  United  States  forces. 

2Sweetwater  River,  Wyoming. 

260 


THE  TRAPPERS  261 

and  power  of  their  horses.  Among  the  rest,  the  Arapahoes 
came  in  considerable  numbers  to  the  fort.  They  had  lately 
committed  numerous  acts  of  outrage,  and  Colonel  Kearny 
threatened  that  if  they  killed  any  more  white  men  he  would% 
turn  loose  his  dragoons  upon  them,  and  annihilate  their 
whole  nation.  In  the  evening,  to  add  effect  to  his  speech,  he 
ordered  a  howitzer  to  be  fired  and  a  rocket  to  be  thrown  up. 
Many  of  the  Arapahoes  fell  prostrate  on  the  ground,  while 
others  ran  away  screaming  with  amazement  and  terror.  On 
the  following  day  they  withdrew  to  their  mountains,  con- 
founded with  awe  at  the  appearance  of  the  dragoons,  at  their 
big  gun  which  went  off  twice  at  one  shot,  and  the  fiery 
messenger  which  they  had  sent  up  to  the  Great  Spirit.  For 
many  months  they  remained  quiet,  and  did  no  further  mis- 
chief. At  length,  just  before  we  came  into  the  country,  one 
of  them,  by  an  act  of  the  basest  treachery,  killed  two  white 
men,  Boot  and  May,  who  were  trapping  among  the  moun- 
tains. For  this  act  it  was  impossible  to  discover  a  motive. 
It  seemed  to  spring  from  one  of  those  inexplicable  impulses 
which  often  actuate  Indians  and  appear  no  better  than  the 
mere  outbreaks  of  native  ferocity.  No  sooner  was  the  mur- 
der committed  than  the  whole  tribe  were  in  extreme  con- 
sternation. They  expected  every  day  that  the  avenging 
dragoons  would  arrive,  little  thinking  that  a  desert  of  nine 
hundred  miles  in  extent  lay  between  the  latter  and  their 
mountain  fastnesses.  A  large  deputation  of  them  came  to 
Fort  Laramie,  bringing  a  valuable  present  of  horses  in  com- 
pensation for  the  lives  of  the  murdered  men.  These  Bor- 
deaux refused  to  accept.  They  then  asked  him  if  he  would 
be  satisfied  with  their  delivering  up  the  murderer  himself; 
but  he  declined  this  offer  also.  The  Arapahoes  went  back 
more  terrified  than  ever.  Weeks  passed  away,  and  still  no 
dragoons  appeared.  A  result  followed  which  all  those  best 
acquainted  with  Indians  had  predicted.  They  conceived  that 
fear  had  prevented  Bordeaux  from  accepting  their  gifts,  and 


262  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

that  they  had  nothing  to  apprehend  from  the  vengeance  of  the 
whites.  From  terror  they  rose  to  the  height  of  insolence  and 
presumption.  They  called  the  white  men  cowards  and  old 
.women;  and  a  friendly  Dakota  came  to  Fort  Laramie  and 
reported  that  they  were  determined  to  kill  the  first  of  the 
white  dogs  whom  they  could  lay  hands  on. 

Had  a  military  officer,  intrusted  with  suitable  powers, 
been  stationed  at  Fort  Laramie,  and  having  accepted  the  offer 
of  the  Arapahoes  to  deliver  up  the  murderer,  had  ordered  him 
to  be  immediately  led  out  and  shot  in  presence  of  his  tribe, 
they  would  have  been  awed  into  tranquillity  and  much 
danger  and  calamity  averted;  but  now  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Medicine-Bow  Mountain  and  the  region  beyond  it  was  a 
scene  of  extreme  peril.  Old  Mene-Seela,  a  true  friend  of 
the  whites,  and  many  other  of  the  Indians  gathered  about  the 
two  trappers,  and  vainly  endeavored  to  turn  them  from  their 
purpose ;  but  Rouleau  and  Saraphin  only  laughed  at  the  dan- 
ger. On  the  morning  preceding  that  on  which  they  were  to 
leave  the  camp,  we  could  all  discern  faint  white  columns  of 
smoke  rising  against  the  dark  base  of  the  Medicine-Bow. 
Scouts  were  out  immediately,  and  reported  that  these  pro- 
ceeded from  an  Arapahoe  camp,  abandoned  only  a  few  hours 
before.  Still  the  two  trappers  c.ontinued  their  preparations 
for  departure. 

Saraphin  was  a  tall,  powerful  fellow,  with  a  sullen  and 
sinister  countenance.  His  rifle  had  very  probably  drawn 
other  blood  than  that  of  buffalo  or  even  Indians.  Rouleau 
had  a  broad  ruddy  face,  marked  with  as  few  traces  of  thought 
or  of  care  as  a  child's.  His  figure  was  remarkably  square  and 
strong,  but  the  first  joints  of  both  his  feet  were  frozen  off, 
and  his  horse  had  lately  thrown  and  trampled  upon  him,  by 
which  he  had  been  severely  injured  in  the  chest.  But  nothing 
could  check  his  inveterate  propensity  for  laughter  and  gayety. 
He  went  all  day  rolling  about  the  camp  on  his  stumps  of 
feet,  talking  and  singing  and  frolicking  with  the  Indian 


THE  TRAPPERS  263 


women  as  they  were  engaged  at  their  work.  In  fact  Rou- 
leau had  an  unlucky  partiality  for  squaws..  He  always  had 
one  whom  he  must  needs  bedizen  with  beads,  ribbons,  and 
all  the  finery  of  an  Indian  wardrobe.  .  .  .  If  at  any  time 
he  had  not  lavished  the  whole  of  the  precarious  profits  of  his 
vocation  upon  his  dark  favorite,  he  always  devoted  the  rest 
to  feasting  his  comrades.  If  liquor  was  not  to  be  had — and 
this  was  usually  the  case- — strong  coffee  was  substituted.  As 
the  men  of  that  region  are  by  no  means  remarkable  for 
providence  or  self-restraint,  whatever  was  set  before  them  on 
these  occasions,  however  extravagant  in  price  or  enormous  in 
quantity,  was  sure  to  be  disposed  of  at  one  sitting.  Like  other 
trappers,  Rouleau's  life  was  one  of  contrast  and  variety.  It 
was  only  at  certain  seasons,  and  for  a  limited  time,  that  he 
was  absent  on  his  expeditions.  For  the  rest  of  the  year  he 
would  be  lounging  about  the  fort,  or  encamped  with  his 
friends  in  its  vicinity,  lazily  hunting  or  enjoying  all  the  lux- 
ury of  inaction ;  but  when  once  in  pursuit  of  the  beaver,  he 
was  involved  in  extreme  privations  and  desperate  perils. 
When  in  the  midst  of  his  game  and  his  enemies,  hand  and 
foot,  eye  and  ear,  are  incessantly  active.  Frequently  he  must 
content  himself  with  devouring  his  evening  meal  uncooked, 
lest  the  light  of  his  fire  should  attract  the  eyes  of  some 
wandering  Indian ;  and  sometimes  having  made  his  rude 
repast,  he  must  leave  his  fire  still  blazing  and  withdraw  to 
a  distance  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  that  his  disappointed 
enemy,  drawn  thither  by  the  light,  may  find  his  victim  gone 
and  be  unable  to  trace  his  footsteps  in  the  gloom.  This  is 
the  life  led  by  scores  of  men  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
their  vicinity.  I  once  met  a  trapper  whose  breast  was  marked 
with  the  scars  of  six  bullets  and  arrows,  one  of  his  arms 
broken  by,  a  shot  and  one  of  his  knees  shattered;  yet  still, 
with  the  undaunted  metal  of  New  England,  from  which 
part  of  the  country  he  had  come,  he  continued  to  follow  his 
perilous  occupation.  To  some  of  the  children  of  cities  it  may 


264  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

seem  strange  that  men  with  no  object  in  view  should  continue 
to  follow  a  life  of  such  hardship  and  desperate  adventure; 
yet  there  is  a  mysterious,  restless  charm  in  the  basilisk  eye 
of  danger,  and  few  men  perhaps  remain  long  in  that  wild 
region  without  learning  to  love  peril  for  its  own  sake,  and  to 
laugh  carelessly  in  the  face  of  death. 

On  the  last  day  of  our  stay  in  this  camp,  the  trappers 
were  ready  for  departure.  When  in  the  Black  Hills  they 
had  caught  seven-  beaver,  and  they  now  left  their  skins  in 
charge  of  Reynal  to  be  kept  until  their  return.  Their  strong, 
gaunt  horses  were  equipped  with  rusty  Spanish  bits  and  rude 
Mexican  saddles,  to  which  wooden  stirrups  were  attached, 
while  a  buffalo  robe  was  rolled  up  behind  them  and  a 
bundle  of  beaver  traps  slung  at  the  pommel.  These,  together 
with  their  rifles,  their  knives,  their  powder-horns  and  bullet- 
pouches,  flint  and  steel  and  a  tin  cup,  composed  their  whole 
traveling  equipment.  They  shook  hands  with  us  and  rode 
away;  Saraphin  with  his  grim  countenance,  like  a  surly  bull- 
dog's, was  in  advance ;  but  Rouleau,  clambering  gayly  into  his 
seat,  kicked  his  horse's  sides,  flourished  his  whip  in  the  air, 
and  trotted  briskly  over  the  prairie,  trolling  forth  a  Canadian 
song  at  the  top  of  his  lungs.  Reynal  looked  after  them  with 
his  face  of  brutal  selfishness. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if  they  are  killed,  I  shall  have  the 
beaver.  They'll  fetch  me  fifty  dollars  at  the  fort,  anyhow." 

This  was  the  last  I  saw  of  them. 

We  had  been  for  five  days  in  the  hunting-camp,  and  the 
meat,  which  all  this  time  had  hung  drying  in  the  sun,  was 
now  fit  for  transportation.  Buffalo  hides  also  had  been  pro- 
cured in  sufficient  quantities  for  making  the  next  season's 
lodges;  but  it  remained  to  provide  the  long  slender  poles  on 
which  they  were  to  be  supported.  These  were  only  to  be 
had  among  the  tall  pine  woods  of  the  Black  Hills,  and  in  that 
.direction  therefore  our  next  move  was  to  be  made.  It  is 
>irt>rthy  of  notice  that  amid  the  general  abundance  which 


THE  TRAPPERS  265 

during  this  time  had  prevailed  in  the  camp,  there  were  no 
instances  of  individual  privation ;  for  although  the  hide  and 
the  tongue  of  the  buffalo  belong  by  exclusive  right  to  the 
hunter  who  has  killed  it,  yet  anyone  else  is  equally  entitled 
to  help  himself  from  the  rest  of  the  .carcass.  Thus  the  weak, 
the  aged,  and  even  the  indolent  come  in  for  a  share  of  the 
spoils,  and  many  a  helpless  old  woman,  who  would  otherwise 
perish  from  starvation,  is  sustained  in  profuse  abundance. 

On  the  twenty-fifth  of  July,  late  in  the  afternoon,  the 
camp  broke  up  with  the  usual  tumult  and  confusion,  and  we 
were  all  moving  once  more,  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  over 
the  plains.  We  advanced,  however,  but  a  few  miles.  The  old 
men,  who  during  the  whole  march  had  been  stoutly  striding 
along  on  foot  in  front  of  the  people,  now  seated  themselves 
^  in  a  circle  on  the  ground,  while  all  the  families,  erecting  their 
lodges  in  the  prescribed  order  around  them,  formed  the 
usual  great  circle  of  the  camp ;  meanwhile  these  village  patri- 
archs sat  smoking  and  talking.  I  threw  my  bridle  to  Ray- 
mond, and  sat  down  as  usual  along  with  them.  There  was 
none  of  that  reserve  and  apparent  dignity  which  an  Indian 
always  assumes  when  in  council,  or  in  the  presence  of  white 
men  whom  he  distrusts.  The  party,  on  the  contrary,  was 
an  extremely  merry  one,  and  as  in  a  social  circle  of  a  quite 
different  character,  "if  there  was  not  much  wit,  there  was  at 
least  a  great  deal  of  laughter/'1 

When  the  first  pipe  was  smoked  out,  I  rose  and  with- 
drew to  the  lodge  of  my  host.  Here  I  was  stooping,  in  the 
act  of  taking  off  my  powder-horn  and  bullet-pouch,  when  sud- 
denly, and  close  at  hand,  pealing  loud  and  shrill  and  in  right 
good  earnest,  came  the  terrific  yell  of  the  war-whoop.  Kon- 
gra-Tonga's  squaw  snatched  up  her  youngest  child  and  ran 
out  of  the  lodge.  I  followed,  and  found  the  whole  village  in 
confusion,  resounding  with  cries  and  yells.  The  circle  of 
old  men  in  the  center  had  vanished.  The  warriors  with  glit- 

1Incorrectly  quoted  from  Goldsmith's  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  Chapter  xxxii. 


266  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

tering  eyes  came  darting,  their  weapons  in  their  hands,  out 
of  the  low  opening  of  the  lodges,  and  running  with  wild  yells 
toward  the  farther  end  of  the  village.  Advancing  a  few  rods 
in  that  direction,  I  saw  a  crowd  in  furious  agitation,  while 
other's  ran  up  on  every  side  to  add  to  the  confusion.  Just 
then  I  distinguished  the  voices  of  Raymond  and  Reynal, 
shouting  to  me  from  a  distance,  and  looking  back  I  saw 
the  latter  with  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  standing  on  the  farther 
bank  of  a  little  stream  that  ran  along  the  outskirts  of  the 
camp.  He  was  calling  to  Raymond  and  myself  to  come  over 
and  join  him,  and  Raymond,  with  his  usual  deliberate  gait 
and  stolid  countenance,  was  already  moving  in  that  direction. 
This  was  clearly  the  wisest  course,  unless  we  wished  to 
involve  ourselves  in  the  fray;  so  I  turned  to  go,  but  just  then 
a  pair  of  eyes,  gleaming  like  a  snake's,  and  an  aged  familiar 
countenance  was  thrust  from  the  opening  of  a  neighboring 
lodge,  and  out  bolted  old  Mene-Seela,  full  of  fight,  clutching 
his  bow  and  arrows  in  one  hand  and  his  knife  in  the  other. 
At  that  instant  he  tripped  and  fell  sprawling  on  his  face, 
while  his  weapons  flew  scattering  away  in  every  direction. 
The  women  with  loud  screams  were  hurrying  with  their 
children  in  their  arms  to  place  them  out  of  danger,  and  I 
observed  some  hastening  to  prevent  mischief  by  carrying  away 
all  the  weapons  they  could  lay  hands  on.  On  a  rising  ground 
close  to  the  camp  stood  a  line  of  old  women  singing  a  medicine 
song  to  allay  the  tumult.  As  I  approached  the  side  of  the 
brook  I  heard  gun-shots  behind  me,  and  turning  back,  I  saw 
that  the  crowrd  had  separated  into  two  long  lines  of  naked 
warriors,  confronting  each  other  at  a  respectful  distance,  and 
yelling  and  jumping  about  to  dodge  the  shot  of  their  adver- 
saries, while  they  discharged  bullets  and  arrows  against  each 
other.  At  the  same  time  certain  sharp,  humming  sounds  in 
the  air  over  my  head,  like  the  flight  of  beetles  on  a  summer 
evening,  warned  me  that  the  danger  was  not  wholly  confined 
to  the  immediate  scene  of  the  fray.  So  wading  through  the 


THE  TRAPPERS  267 

rook,  I  joined  Reynal  and  Raymond,  and  we  sat  down  on 
tie  grass,  in  the  posture  of  an  armed  neutrality,  to  watch  the 
suit. 

Happily  it  may  be  for  ourselves,  though  quite  contrary 
our  expectation,  the  disturbance  was  quelled  almost  as 
as  it  had  commenced.  When  I  looked  again,  the  com- 
atants  were  once  more  mingled  together  in  a  mass.  Though 
11s  sounded  occasionally  from  the  throng,  the  firing  had 
itirely  ceased,  and  I  observed  five  or  six  persons  moving 
busily  about,  as  if  acting  the  part  of  peacemakers.  One  of 
he  village  heralds  or  criers  proclaimed  in  a  loud  voice  some- 
tiing  which  my  two  companions  were  too  much  engrossed 
their  own  observations  to  translate  for  me.  The  crowd 
to  disperse,  though  many  a  deep-set  black  eye  still  glit- 
ered  with  an  unnatural  luster,  as  the  warriors  slowly  with- 
ew  to  their  lodges.  This  fortunate  suppression  of  the  dis- 
jrbance  was  owing  to  a  few  of  the  old  men,  less  pugnacious 
ban  Mene-Seela,  who  boldly  ran  in  between  the  combatants, 
id  aided  by  some  of  the  "soldiers,"  or  Indian  police,  suc- 
eded  in  effecting  their  object. 

It  seemed  very  strange  to  me  that  although  many  arrows 
and  bullets  were  discharged,  no  one  was  mortally  hurt,  and 
I  could  only  account  for  this  by  the  fact  that  both  the  marks- 
man and  the  object  of  his  aim  were  leaping  about  incessantly 
during1  the  whole  time.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  vil- 
lagers had  joined  in  the  fray,  for  although  there  were  not 
more  than  a  dozen  guns  in  the  whole  camp,  I  heard  at  least 
eight  or  ten  shots  fired. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  all  was  comparatively  quiet.  A 
large  circle  of  warriors  were  again  seated  in.  the  center  of 
the  village,  but  this  time  I  did  not  venture  to  join  them, 
because  I  could  see  that  the  pipe,  contrary  to  the  usual  order, 
was  passing  from  the  left  hand  to  the  right  around  the  circle : 
a  sure  sign  that  a  "medicine-smoke"  of  reconciliation  w^as 
going  forward,  and  that  a  white  man  would  be  an  unwelcome 


268  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

intruder.  When  I  again  entered  the  still  agitated  camp  it 
was  nearly  dark,  and  mournful  cries,  howls,  and  wailings 
resounded  from  many  female  voices.  Whether  these  had  any 
connection  with  the  late  disturbance,  or  were  merely  lamen- 
tations for  relatives  slain  in  some  former  war  expeditions,  I 
:ould  not  distinctly  ascertain. 

To  inquire  too  closely  into  the  cause  of  the  quarrel  was 
by  no  means  prudent,  and  it  was  not  until  some  time  after 
that  I  discovered  what  had  given  rise  to  it.  Among  the 
Dakota  there  are  many  associations,  or  fraternities,  connected 
with  the  purposes  of  their  superstitions,  their  warfare,  or 
their  social  life.  There  was  one  called  "The  Arrow-Break- 
ers," now  in  a  great  measure  disbanded  and  dispersed.  In 
the  village  there  were,  however,  four  men  belonging  to  it, 
distinguished  by  the  peculiar  arrangement  of  their  hair,  which 
rose  in  a  high  bristling  mass  above  their  foreheads,  adding 
greatly  to  their  apparent  height  and  giving  them  a  most 
ferocious  appearance.  The  principal  among  them  was  the 
Mad  Wolf,  a  warrior  of  remarkable  size  and  strength,  great 
courage,  and  the  fierceness  of  a  demon.  I  had  always  looked 
upon  him  as  the  most  dangerous  man  in  the  village ;  and 
though  he  often  invited  me  to  feasts,  I  never  entered  his 
lodge  unarmed.  The  Mad  Wolf  had  taken  a  fancy  to  a  fine 
horse  belonging  to  another  Indian,  who  was  called  the  Tall 
Bear;  and  anxious  to  get  the  animal  into  his  possession,  he 
made  the  owner  a  present  of  another  horse  nearly  equal  in 
value.  According  to  the  customs  of  the  Dakota,  the  accept- 
ance of  this  gift  involved  a  sort  of  obligation  to  make  an 
equitable  return ;  and  the  Tall  Bear  well  understood  that  the 
other  had  in  view  the  obtaining  of  his  favorite  buffalo  horse. 
He  however  accepted  the  present  "without  a  word  of  thanks, 
and  having  picketed  the  horse  before  his  lodge,  he  suffered 
day  after  day  to  pass  without  making  the  expected  return. 
The  Mad  Wolf  grew  impatient  and  angry;  and  at  last,  see- 
ing that  his  bounty  was  not  likely  to  produce  the  desired 


THE  TRAPPERS  269 

return,  he  resolved  to  reclaim  it.  So  this  evening,  as  soon 
as  the  village  was  encamped,  he  went  to  the  lodge  of  the 
Tall  Bear,  seized  upon  the  horse  that  he  had  given  him,  and 
him  away.  At  this  the  Tall  Bear  broke  into  one  of  those 
of  sullen  rage  not  uncommon  among  the  Indians.  He 
up  to  the  unfortunate  horse,  and  gave  him  three  mortal 
stabs  with  his  knife.  Quick  as  lightning  the  Mad  Wolf 
drew  his  bow  to  its  utmost  tension,  and  held  the  arrow 
quivering  close  to  the  breast  of  his  adversary.  The  Tall 
Bear,  as  the  Indians  who  were  near  him  said,  stood  with 
his  bloody  knife  in  his  hand,  facing  the  assailant  with  the 
utmost  calmness.  Some  of  his  friends  and  relatives,  seeing 
his  danger,  ran  hastily  to  his  assistance.  The  remaining 
three  Arrow-breakers,  on  the  other  hand,  came  to  the  aid 
of  their  associate.  Many  of  their  friends  joined  them,  the 
war-cry  was  raised  on  a  sudden,  and  the  tumult  became 
general. 

The  "soldiers,"  who  lent  their  timely  aid  in  putting  it 
down,  are  by  far  the  most  important -executive  functionaries 
in  an  Indian  village.  The  office  is  one  of  considerable  honor, 
being  confided  only  to  men  of  courage  and  repute.  They 
derive  their  authority  from  the  old  men  and  chief  warriors 
of  the  village,  who  elect  them  in  councils  occasionally  con- 
vened for  the  purpose,  and  thus  can  exercise  a  degree  of 
authority  which  no  one  else  in  the  village  would  dare  to 
assume.  While  very  few  Ogallala  chiefs  could  venture 
without  instant  jeopardy  of  their  lives  to  strike  or  lay  hands 
upon  the  meanest  of  their  people,  the  "soldiers,"  in  the  dis- 
charge of  their  appropriate  functions,  have  full  license  to 
make  use  of  these  and  similar  acts  of  coercion. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    BLACK    HILLS 

We  traveled  eastward  for  two  days,  and  then  the  gloomy 
ridges  of  the  Black  Hills  rose  up  before  us.  The  village 
passed  along  for  some  miles  beneath  their  declivities,  trailing 
out  to  a  great  length  over  the  arid  prairie,  or  winding  at 
times  among  small  detached  hills  or  distorted  shapes.  Turn- 
ing sharply  to  the  left,  we  entered  a  wide  defile  of  the  moun- 
tains, down  the  bottom  of  which  a  brook  came  winding, 
lined  with  tall  grass  and  dense  copses,  amid  which  were 
hidden  many  beaver  dams  and  lodges.  We  passed  along 
between  two  lines  of  high  precipices  and  rocks,  piled  in 
utter  disorder  one  upon  another,  and  with  scarcely  a  tree,  a 
bush,  or  a  clump  of  grass  to  veil  their  nakedness.  The  rest- 
less Indian  boys  were  wandering  along  their  edges  and  clam- 
bering up  and  down  their  rugged  sides,  and  sometimes  a 
group  of  them  would  stand  on  the  verge  of  a  cliff  and  look 
down  on  the  array  as  it  passed  in  review  beneath  them.  As 
we  advanced,  the  passage  grew  more  narrow;  then  it  sud- 
denly expanded  into  a  round  grassy  meadow,  completely 
encompassed  by  mountains;  and  here  the  families  stopped  as 
they  came  up  in  turn,  and  the  camp  rose  like  magic. 

The  lodges  were  hardly  erected  when,  with  their  usual 
precipitation,  the  Indians  set  about  accomplishing  the  object 
that  had  brought  them  there;  that  is,  the  obtaining  poles 
for  supporting  their  new  lodges.  Half  the  population,  men, 
women,  and  boys,  mounted  their  horses  and  set  out  for  the 
interior  of  the  mountains.  As  they  rode  at  full  gallop  over 
the  shingly  rocks  and  into  the  dark  opening  of  the  defile 
beyond,  I  thought  I  had  never  read  or  dreamed  of  a  more 

270 


stran 


THE  BLACK  HILLS  271 


ge  or  picturesque  cavalcade.  We  passed  between  preci- 
pices more  than  a  thousand  feet  high,  sharp  and  splintering 
at  the  tops,  their  sides  beetling  over  the  defile  or  descending 
in  abrupt  declivities,  bristling  with  black  fir  trees.  On  our 
left  they  rose  close  to  us  like  a  wall,  but  on  the  right  a  wind- 
ing brook  with  a  narrow  strip  of  marshy  soil  intervened. 
The  stream  was  clogged  with  old  beaver  dams,  and  spread 
frequently  into  wide  pools.  There  were  thick  bushes  and 
many  dead  and  blasted  trees  along  its  course,  though  fre- 
quently nothing  remained  but  stumps  cut  close  to  the  ground 
by  the  beaver,  and  marked  with  the  sharp  chisel-like  teeth 
of  those  indefatigable  laborers.  Sometimes  we  were  diving 
among  trees,  and  then  emerging  upon  open  spots  over  which, 
Indian-like,  all  galloped  at  full  speed.  As  Pauline  bounded 
over  the  rocks  I  felt  her  saddle-girth  slipping,  and  alighted  to 
draw  it  tighter;  when  the  whole  array  swept  past  me  in  a 
moment,  the  women  with  their  gaudy  ornaments  tinkling  as 
they  rode,  the  men  whooping  and  laughing  and  lashing  for- 
ward their  horses.  Two  black-tailed  deer  bounded  away 
among  the  rocks;  Raymond  shot  at  them  from  horseback; 
the  sharp  report  of  his  rifle  was  answered  by  another  equally 
sharp  from  the  opposing  cliffs,  and  then  the  echoes,  leaping  in 
rapid  succession  from  side  to  side,  died  away  rattling  far 
amid  the  mountains. 

After  having  ridden  in  this  manner  for  six  or  eight 
miles,  the  appearance  of  the  scene  began  to  change,  and  all 
the  declivities  around  us  were  covered  with  forests  of  tall, 
slender  pine  trees.  The  Indians  began  to  fall  off  to  the 
right  and  left,  and  dispersed  with  their  hatchets  and  knives 
among  these  woods,  to  cut  the  poles  which  they  had  come  to 
seek.  Soon  I  was  left  almost  alone;  but  in  the  deep  stillness 
of  those  lonely  mountains,  the  stroke  of  hatchets  and  the 
sound  of  voices  might  be  heard  from  far  and  near. 

Reynal,  who  imitated  the  Indians  in  their  habits  as  well 
as  the  worst  features  of  their  character,  had  killed  buffalo 


272  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

enough  to  make  a  lodge  for  himself  and  his  squaw,  and  now 
he  was  eager  to  get  the  poles  necessary  to  complete  it.  He 
asked  me  to  let  Raymond  go  with  him  and  assist  in  the  work. 
I  assented,  and  the  two  men  immediately  entered  the  thickest 
part  of  the  wood.  Having  left  my  horse  in  Raymond's 
keeping,  I  began  to  climb  the  mountain.  I  was  weak  and 
weary  and  made  slow  progress,  often  pausing  to  rest,  but 
after  an  hour  had  elapsed,  I  gained  a  height  whence  the  little 
valley  out  of  which  I  had  climbed  seemed  like  a  deep,  dark 
gulf,  though  the  inaccessible  peak  of  the  mountain  was  still 
towering  to  a  much  greater  distance  above.  Objects  familiar 
from  childhood  surrounded  me :  crags  and  rocks,  a  black  and 
sullen  brook  that  gurgled  with  a  hollow  voice  deep  among 
the  crevices,  a  wood  of  mossy  distorted  trees  and  prostrate 
trunks  flung  down  by  age  and  storms,  scattered  among  the 
rocks  or  damming  the  foaming  waters  of  the  little  brook. 
The  objects  were  the  same,  yet  they  were  thrown  into  a 
wilder  and  more  startling  scene,  for  the  black  crags  and  the 
savage  trees  assumed  a  grim  and  threatening  aspect,  and  close 
across  the  valley  the  opposing  mountain  confronted  me,  rising 
from  the  gulf  for  thousands  of  feet,  with  its  bare  pinnacles 
and  its  ragged  covering  of  pines.  Yet  the  scene  was  not 
without  its  milder  features.  As  I  ascended,  I  found  frequent 
little  grassy  terraces,  and  there  was  one  of  these  close  at  hand, 
across  which  the  brook  was  stealing  beneath  the  shade  of 
scattered  trees  that  seemed  artificially  planted.  Here  I 
made  a  welcome  discovery,  no  other  than  a  bed  of  strawber- 
ries, with  their  white  flowers  and  their  red  fruit,  close  nestled 
among  the  grass  by  the  side  of  the  brook;  and  I  sat  down 
by  them,  hailing  them  as  old  acquaintances;  for  among  those 
lonely  and  perilous  mountains  they  awakened  delicious  associ- 
ations of  the  gardens  and  peaceful  homes  of  far-distant  New 
England. 

Yet  wild   as   they   were,    these   mountains   were   thickly 
peopled.     As   I   climbed   farther,    I   found   the   broad   dusty 


THE  BLACK  HILLS  273 

paths  made  by  the  elk  as  they  filed  across  the  mountainside. 
The  grass  on  all  the  terraces  was  trampled  down  by  deer; 
there  were  numerous  tracks  of  wolves,  and  in  some  of  the 
rougher  and  more  precipitous  parts  of  the  ascent  I  found 
foot-prints  different  from  any  that  I  had  ever  seen,  and 
which  I  took  to  be  those  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  sheep.  I 
sat  down  upon  a  rock ;  there  was  a  perfect  stillness.  No  wind 
was  stirring,  and  not  even  an  insect  could  be  heard.  I  recol- 
lected the  danger  of  becoming  lost  in  such  a  place,  and  there- 
fore I  fixed  my  eye  upon  one  of  the  tallest  pinnacles  of  the 
opposite  mountain.  It  rose  sheer  upright  from  the  woods 
below,  and  by  an  extraordinary  freak  of  nature  sustained  aloft 
on  its  very  summit  a  large  loose  rock.  Such  a  landmark 
could  never  be  mistaken,  and  feeling  once  more  secure,  I 
began  again  to  move  forward.  A  white  wolf  jumped  up 
from  among  some  bushes,  and  leaped  clumsily  away;  but  he 
stopped  for  a  moment,  and  turned  back  his  keen  eye  and  his 
grim  bristling  muzzle.  I  longed,  to  take  his  scalp  and  carry 
it  back  with  me  as  an  appropriate  trophy  of  the  Black  Hills, 
but  before  I  could  fire  he  was  gone  among  the  rocks.  Soon 
I  heard  a  rustling  sound,  with  a  cracking  of  twigs  at  a  little 
distance,  and  saw  moving  above  the  tall  bushes  the  branching 
antlers  of  an  elk.  I  was  in  the  midst  of  a  hunter's  paradise. 
Such  are  the  Black  Hills,  as  I  found  them  in  July;  but 
they  wear  a  different  garb  when  winter  sets  in,  when  the 
broad  boughs  of  the  fir  tree  are  bent  to  the  ground  by  the 
load  of  snow,  and  the  dark  mountains  are  whitened  with  it. 
At  that  season  the  mountain-trappers,  returned  from  their 
autumn  expeditions,  often  build  their  rude  cabins  in  the 
midst  of  these  solitudes,  and  live  in  abundance  and  luxury  on 
the  game  that  harbors  there.  I  have  heard  them  relate  how, 
with  their  tawny  mistresses  and  perhaps  a  few  young  Indian 
companions,  they  have  spent  months  in  total  seclusion.  They 
would  dig  pitfalls,  and  set  traps  for  the  white  wolves,  the 
sables,  and  the  martens,  and  though  through  the  whole  night 


274  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

the  awful  chorus  of  the  wolves  would  resound  from  the 
frozen  mountains  around  them,  yet  within  their  massive 
walls  of  logs  they  would  lie  in  careless  ease  and  comfort, 
before  the  blazing  fire,  and  in  the  morning  shoot  the  elk  and 
the  deer  from  their  very  door. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    MOUNTAIN    HUNT 


The  camp  was  full  of  the  newly-cut  lodge-poles;  some, 
eady  prepared,  were  stacked  together,  white  and  glistening, 
to  dry  and  harden  in  the  sun ;  others  were  lying  on  the 
ground,  and  the  squaws,  the  boys,  and  even  some  of  the 
warriors  were  busily  at  work  peeling  off  the  bark  and  paring 
them  with  their  knives  to  the  proper  dimensions.  Most  of 
the  hides  obtained  at  the  last  camp  were  dressed  and  scraped 
thin  enough  for  use,  and  many  of  the  squaws  were  engaged 
in  fitting  them  together  and  sewing  them  with  sinews,  to 
form  the  coverings  for  the  lodges.  Men  were  wandering 
among  the  bushes  that  lined  the  brook  along  the  margin  of 
the  camp,  cutting  sticks  of  red  willow,  or  shongsasha,  the 
bark  of  which,  mixed  with  tobacco,  they  use  for  smoking. 
Reynal's  squaw  was  hard  at  work  with  her  awl  and  buffalo 
sinews  upon  her  lodge,  while  her  proprietor,  having  just 
finished  an  enormous  breakfast  of  meat,  was  smoking  a  social 
pipe  along  with  Raymond  and  myself.  He  proposed  at  length 
that  we  should  go  out  on  a  hunt.  "Go  to  the  Big  Crow's 
lodge,"  said  he,  "and  get  your  rifle.  I'll  bet  the  gray  Wyan- 
dot  pony  against  your  mare  that  we  start  an  elk  or  a  black- 
tailed  deer,  or  likely  as  not  a  bighorn,1  before  we  are  two 
miles  out  of  camp.  I'll  take  my  squaw's  old  yellow  horse  f 
you  can't  whip  her  more  than  four  miles  an  hour,  but  she  is 
as  good  for  the  mountains  as  a  mule." 

I  mounted  the  black  mule  which  Raymond  usually  rode. 
She  was  a  very  fine  and  powerful  animal,  gentle  and  man- 
ageable enough  by  nature;  but  of  late  her  temper  had  been 
soured  by  misfortune.  About  a  week  before  I  had  chanced 

1The  bighorn  elk. 

275 


276  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

to  offend  some  one  of  the  Indians,  who  out  of  revenge  went 
secretly  into  the  meadow  and  gave  her  a  severe  stab  in  the 
haunch  with  his  knife.  The  wound,  though  partially  healed, 
still  galled  her  extremely,  and  made  her  even  more  perverse 
and  obstinate  than  the  rest  of  her  species. 

The  morning  was  a  glorious  one,  and  I  was  in  better 
health  than  I  had  been  at  any  time  for  the  last  two  months. 
Though  a  strong  frame  and  well  compacted  sinews  had  borne 
me  through  hitherto,  it  was  long  since  I  had  been  in  a  condi- 
tion to  feel  the  exhilaration  of  the  fresh  mountain  wind  and 
the  gay  sunshine  that  brightened  the  crags  and  trees.  We 
left  the  little  valley  and  ascended  a  rocky  hollow  in  the  moun- 
tain. Very  soon  we  were  out  of  sight  of  the  camp  and  of 
every  living  thing,  man,  beast,  bird,  or  insect.  I  had  never 
before,  except  on  foot,  passed  over  such  execrable  ground, 
and  I  desire  never  to  repeat  the  experiment.  The  black 
mule  grew  indignant,  and  even  the  redoubtable  yellow  horse 
stumbled  every  moment,  and  kept  groaning  to  himself  as 
he  cut  his  feet  and  legs  among  the  sharp  rocks. 

It  was  a  scene  of  silence  and  desolation.  Little  was 
visible  except  beetling  crags  and  the  bare  shingly  sides  of  the 
mountains,  relieved  by  scarcely  a  trace  of  vegetation.  At 
length,  however,  we  came  upon  a  forest  tract,  and  had  no 
sooner  done  so  than  we  heartily  wished  ourselves  back 
among  the  rocks  again;  for  we  were  on  a  steep  descent, 
among  trees  so  thick  that  we  could  see  scarcely  a  rod  in 
*any  direction. 

If  one  is  anxious  to  place  himself  in  a  situation  where 
the  hazardous  and  ludicrous  are  combined  in  about  equal 
proportions,  let  him  get  upon  a  vicious  mule,  with  a  snaffle 
bit,  and  try  to  drive  her  through  the  woods  down  a  slope 
of  45  degrees.  Let  him  have  on  a  long  rifle,  a  buckskin  frock 
with  long  fringes,  and  a  head  of  long  hair.  These  latter 
•  appendages  will  be  caught  every  moment  and  twitched  away 
in  small  portions  by  the  twigs,  which  will  also  whip  him 


A  MOUNTAIN  HUNT  277 

smartly  across  the  face,  while  the  large  branches  above 
thump  him  on  the  head.  His  mule,  if  she  be  a  true  one, 
will  alternately  stop  short  and  dive  violently  forward,  and 
his  positions  upon  her  back  will  be  somewhat  diversified 
and  extraordinary.  At  one  time  he  will  clasp  her  affection- 
ately to  avoid  the  blow  of  a  bough  overhead;  at  another  he 
will  throw  himself  back  and  fling  his  knee  forward  against 
the  side  of  her  neck,  to  keep  it  from  being  crushed  between 
the  rough  bark  of  a  tree  and  the  equally  unyielding  ribs  of 
the  animal  herself.  Reynal  was  cursing  incessantly  during 
the  whole  way  down.  Neither  of  us  had  the  remotest  idea 
where  we  were  going;  and  though  I  have  seen  rough  riding, 
I  shall  always  retain  an  evil  recollection  of  that  five  minutes' 
scramble. 

At  last  we  left  our  troubles  behind  us,  emerging  into 
the  channel  of  a  brook  that  circled  along  the  foot  of  the 
descent;  and  here,  turning  joyfully  to  the  left,  we  rode  in 
luxury  and  ease  over  the  white  pebbles  and  the  rippling 
\vater,  shaded  from  the  glaring  sun  by  an  overarching  green 
transparency.  These  halcyon  moments  were  of  short  dura- 
tion. The  friendly  brook,  turning  sharply  to  one  side,  went 
brawling  and  foaming  down  the  rocky  hill  into  an  abyss 
which,  as  far  as  we  could  discern,  had  no  bottom;  so  once 
more  we  betook  ourselves  to  the  detested  woods.  When 
next  we  came  forth  from  their  dancing  shadow  and  sunlight, 
we  found  ourselves  standing  in  the  broad  glare  of  day,  on 
a  high  jutting  point  of  the  mountain.  Before  us  stretched 
a  long,  wide,  desert  valley  winding  away  far  amid  the  moun- 
tains. No  civilized  eye  but  mine  had  ever  looked  upon  that 
virgin  waste.  Reynal  was  gazing  intently;  he  began  to 
speak  at  last: 

"Many  a  time,  when  I  was  with  the  Indians,  I  have 
been  hunting  for  gold  all  through  the  Black  Hills.  There's 
plenty  of  it  here ;  you  may  be  certain  of  that.  I  have  dreamed 
about  it  fifty  times,  and  I  never  dreamed  yet  but  what  it 


278  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

came  out  true.  Look  over  yonder  at  those  black  rocks  piled 
up  against  that  other  big  rock.  Don't  it  look  as  if  there 
might  be  something  there?  It  won't  do  for  a  white  man  to 
be  rummaging  too  much  about  these  mountains;  the  Indians 
say  they  are  full  of  bad  spirits;  and  I  believe  myself  that  it's 
no  good  luck  to  be  hunting  about  here  after  gold.  Well,  for 
all  that,  I  would  like  to  have  one  of  these  fellows  up  here 
from  down  below,1  to  go  about  with  his  witch-hazel  rod,2  and 
I'll  guarantee  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  he  would  light 
on  a  gold  mine.  Never  mind;  we'll  let  the  gold  alone  for 
to-day.  Look  at  those  trees  down  below  us  in  the  hollow; 
we'll  go  down  there,  and  I  reckon  we'll  get  a  black-tailed 
deer." 

But  ReynaTs  predictions  were  not  verified.  We  passed 
mountain  after  mountain,  and  valley  after  valley ;  we  explored 
deep  ravines ;  yet  still  to  my  companion's  vexation  and  evident 
surprise  no  game  could  be  found.  So,  in  the  absence  of  bet- 
ter, we  resolved  to  go  out  on  the  plains  and  look  for  an  ante- 
lope. With  this  view  we  began  to  pass  down  a  narrow  val- 
ley, the  bottom  of  which  was  covered  w^ith  the  stiff  wild- 
sage  bushes  and  marked  with  deep  paths,  made  by  the  buf- 
falo, who,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  are  accustomed  to 
penetrate,  in  their  long  grave  processions,  deep  among  the 
gorges  of  these  sterile  mountains. 

Reynal's  eye  was  ranging  incessantly  among  the  rocks 
and  along  the  edges  of  the  black  precipices,  in  hopes  of  dis- 
covering the  mountain  sheep  peering  down  upon  us  in  fan- 
cied security  from  that  giddy  elevation.  Nothing  was  visible 
for  some  time.  At  length  we  both  detected  something  in 
motion  near  the  foot  of  one  of  the  mountains,  and  in  a 
moment  afterward  a  black-tailed  deer,  with  his  spreading 
antlers,  stood  gazing  at  us  from  the  top  of  a  rock,  and  then, 

1From  the  white  settlements. 

2A  reference  to  the  popular  superstition  that  a  stick  of  witch  hazel,  carried 
in  the  hands  of  certain  persons,  will  point  to  the  location  of  gold,  silver,  water, 
etc. 


A  MOUNTAIN  HUNT  279 

slowly  turning  away,  disappeared  behind  it.  In  an  instant 
Reynal  was  out  of  his  saddle,  and  running  toward  the  spot. 
I,  being  too  weak  to  follow,  sat  holding  his  horse  and  waiting 
the  result.  I  lost  sight  of  him,  then  heard  the  report  of  his 
rifle  deadened  among  the  rocks,  and  finally  saw  him  reappear, 
with  a  surly  look  that  plainly  betrayed  his  ill  success.  Again 
we  moved  forward  down  the  long  valley,  when  soon  after 
we  came  full  upon  what  seemed  a  wide  and  very  shallow 
ditch,  incrusted  at  the  bottom,  with  white  clay,  dried  and 
cracked  in  the  sun.  Under  this  fair  outside,  Reynal's  eye 
detected  the  signs  of  lurking  mischief.  He  called  me  to  stop, 
and  then  alighting,  picked  up  a  stone  and  threw  it  into  the 
ditch.  To  my  utter  amazement  it  fell  with  a  dull  splash, 
breaking  at  once  through  the  thin  crust,  and  spattering  round 
the  whole  a  yellowish  creamy  fluid,  into  which  it  sank  and  dis- 
appeared. A  stick,  five  or  six  feet  long,  lay  on  the  ground, 
and  with  this  we  sounded  the  insidious  abyss  close  to  its  edge. 
It  was  just  possible  to  touch  the  bottom.  Places  like  this 
are  numerous  among  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  buffalo, 
in  his  blind  and  heedless  walk,  often  plunges  into  them  una- 
wares. Down  he  sinks;  one  snort  of  terror,  one  convulsive 
struggle,  and  the  slirne  calmly  flows  above  his  shaggy  head, 
the  languid  undulations  of  its  sleek  and  placid  surface  alone 
betraying  how  the  powerful  monster  writhes  in  his  death- 
throes  below. 

We  found  after  some  trouble  a  point  where  we  could 
pass  the  abyss,  and  now  the  valley  began  to  open  upon  the 
plains  which  spread  to  the  horizon  before  us.  On  one  of 
their  distant  swells  we  discerned  three  or  four  black  specks, 
which  Reynal  pronounced  to  be  buffalo. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "we  must  get  one  of  them.  My  squaw 
wants  more  sinews  to  finish  her  lodge  with,  and  I  want  some 
glue  myself." 

He  immediately  put  the  yellow  horse  to  such  a  gallop  as 
he  was  capable  of  executing,  while  I  set  spurs  to  the  mule, 


280  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

who  soon  far  outran  her  plebeian  rival.  When  we  had  gal- 
loped a  mile  or  more,  a  large  rabbit,  by  ill  luck,  sprang  up 
just  under  the  feet  of  the  mule,  who  bounded  violently  aside 
in  full  career.  Weakened  as  I  was,  I  was  flung  forcibly  to 
the  ground,  and  my  rifle,  falling  close  to  my  head,  went  off 
with  the  shock.  Its  sharp,  spiteful  report  rang  for  some 
moments  in  my  ear.  Being  slightly  stunned,  I  lay  for  an 
instant  motionless,  and  Reynal,  supposing  me  to  be  shot,  rode 
up  and  began  to  curse  the  mule.  Soon  recovering  myself,  I 
rose,  picked  up  the  rifle  and  anxiously  examined  it.  It  was 
badly  injured.  The  stock  was  cracked  and  the  main  screw 
broken,  so  that  the  lock  had  to  be  tied  in  its  place  with  a 
string;  yet  happily  it  was  not  rendered  totally  unserviceable. 
I  wiped  it  out,  reloaded  it,  and  handing  it  to  Reynal,  who 
meanwhile  had  caught  the  mule  and  led  her  up  to  me,  I 
mounted  again.  No  sooner  had  I  done  so,  than  the  brute 
began  to  rear  and  plunge  with  extreme  violence;  but  being 
now  well  prepared  for  her  and  free  from  incumbrance,  I 
soon  reduced  her  to  submission.  Then  taking  the  rifle  again 
from  Reynal,  we  galloped  forward  as  before. 

We  were  now  free  of  the  mountain  and  riding  far  out 
on  the  broad  prairie.  The  buffalo  were  still  some  two 
miles  in  advance  of  us.  When  we  came  near  them,  we 
stopped  where  a  gentle  swell  of  the  plain  concealed  us  from 
their  view,  and  while  I  held  his  horse  Reynal  ran  forward 
with  his  rifle,  till  I  lost  sight  of  him  beyond  the  rising  ground. 
A  few  minutes  elapsed;  I  heard  the  report  of  his  piece,  and 
saw  the  buffalo  running  away  at  full  speed  on  the  right,  and 
immediately  after  the  hunter  himself,  unsuccessful  as  before, 
came  up  and  mounted  his  horse  in  excessive  ill-humor.  He 
cursed  the  Black  Hills  and  the  buffalo,  swore  that  he  was 
a  good  hunter,  which  indeed  was  true,  and  that  he  had  never 
been  out  before  among  those  mountains  without  killing  two 
or  three  deer  at  least. 

We  now  turned  toward  the  distant  encampment.     As 


A  MOUNTAIN  HUNT  281 

rode  along,  antelope  in  considerable  numbers  were  flying 
lightly  in  all  directions  over  the  plain,  but  not  one  of  them 
vould  stand  and  be  shot  at.    When  we  reached  the  foot  of 
be  mountain  ridge  that  lay  between  us  and  the  village,  we 
vere  too  impatient  to  take  the  smooth  and  circuitous  route; 
turning  short  to  the  left,  we  drove  our  wearied  animals 
directly  upward  among  the  rocks.     Still  more  antelope  were 
aping  about  among  these  flinty  hillsides.     Each  of  us  shot 
at  one,  though  from  a  great  distance,  and  each  missed  his 
nark.     At  length  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  last  ridge, 
aking  down,  we  saw  the  bustling  camp  in  the  valley  at  our 
et,  and  ingloriously  descended  to  it.     As  we  rode  among 
tie  lodges,  the  Indians  looked  in  vain  for  the  fresh  meat  that 
should  have  hung  behind  our  saddles,  and  the  squaws  uttered 
arious  suppressed  ejaculations,  to  the  great  indignation  of 
leynal.     Our  mortification  was  increased  when  we  rode  up 
his  lodge.     Here  we  saw  his  young  Indian  relative,  the 
lail-Storm,  his  light  graceful  figure  reclining  on  the  ground 
in  an  easy  attitude,  while  with  his  friend  the  Rabbit,  who 
sat  by  his  side,  he  was  making  an  abundant  meal  from  a 
wooden  bowl  of  wasna  which  the  squaw  had  placed  between 
them.     Near  him  lay  the  fresh  skin  of  a  female  elk,  which 
he  had  just  killed  among  the  mountains  only  a  mile  or  two 
from  the  camp.     No  doubt  the  boy's  heart  was  elated  with 
triumph,  but  he  betrayed  no  sign  of  it.      He  even  seemed 
totally  unconscious  of  our  approach,  and  his  handsome  face 
had  all  the  tranquillity  of  Indian  self-control ;  a  self-control 
which  prevents  the  exhibition  of  emotion,  without  restrain- 
ing the  emotion  itself.     It  was  about  two  months  since   I 
had  known  the  Hail-Storm,  and  within  that  time  his  char- 
acter had  remarkably  developed.     When  I  first  saw  him,  he 
was  just  emerging  from  the  habits  and  feelings  of  the  boy 
'  into  the  ambition  of  the  hunter  and  warrior.     He  had  lately 
killed  his  first  deer,  and  this  had  excited  his  aspirations  after 
distinction.     Since  that  time  he  had  been  continually  in  search 


282  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

of  game,  and  no  young  hunter  in  the  village  had  been  so  active 
or  so  fortunate  as  he.  It  will  perhaps  be  remembered  how 
fearlessly  he  attacked  the  buffalo  bull,  as  we  were  moving 
toward  our  camp  at  the  Medicine-Bow  Mountain.  All  this 
success  had  produced  a  marked  change  in  his  character.  As 
I  first  remembered  him  he  always  shunned  the  society  of  the 
young  squaws,  and  was  extremely  bashful  and  sheepish  in 
their  presence ;  but  now,  in  the  confidence  of  his  own  reputa- 
tion, he  began  to  assume  the  airs  and  the  arts  of  a  man  of 
gallantry.  He  wore  his  red  blanket  dashingly  over  his  left 
shoulder,  painted  his  cheeks  every  day  with  vermilion,  and 
hung  pendants  of  shells  in  his  ears.  If  I  observed  aright,  he 
met  with  very  good  success  in  his  new  pursuits ;  still  the  Hail- 
Storm  had  much  to  accomplish  before  he  attained  the  full 
standing  of  a  warrior.  Gallantly  as  he  began  to  bear  him- 
self among  the  women  and  girls,  he  still  was  timid  and 
abashed  in  the  presence  of  the  chiefs  and  old  men ;  for  he  had 
never  yet  killed  a  man,  or  stricken  the  dead  body  of  an  enemy 
in  battle.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  handsome  smooth-faced 
boy  burned  with  a  keen  desire  to  flesh  his  maiden  scalpin^- 
knife,  and  I  wrould  not  have  encamped  alone  with  him  with- 
out watching  his  movements  with  a  distrustful  eye. 

His  elder  brother,  the  Horse,  was  of  a  different  char- 
acter. He  was  nothing  but  a  lazy  dandy.  He  knew  very 
well  how  to  hunt,  but  preferred  to  live  by  the  hunting  of 
others.  He  had  no  appetite  for  distinction,  and  the  Hail- 
Storm,  though  a  few  years  younger  than  he,  already  surpassed 
him  in  reputation.  He  had  a  dark  and  ugly  face,  and  he 

fd  a  great  part  of  his  time  in  adorning  it  with  vermilion, 
and  contemplating  it  by  means  of  a  little  pocket  looking-glass 
which  I  ^ave  him.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  he  divided 
it  between  eating  and  sleeping  and  sitting  in  the  sun  on  the 
outside  of  a  lodge.  Here  he  would  remain  for  hour  after 
hour,  arrayed  in  all  his  finery,  with  an  old  dragoon's  sword 
in  his  hand,  and  evidently  flattering  himself  that  he  was  the 


B 


A  MOUNTAIN  HUNT  283 


ter  of  attraction  to  the  eyes  of  the  surrounding  squaws, 
et  he  sat  looking  straight  forward  with  a  face  of  the  utmost 
gravity,  as  if  wrapped  in  profound  meditation,  and  it  was  only 
>y  the  occasional  sidelong  glances  which  he  shot  at  his  sup- 
d  admirers  that  one  could  detect  the  true  course  of  his 
loughts. 

Both  he  and  his  brother  may  represent  a  class  in   the 
idian  community;  neither  should  the  Hail-Storm's  friend, 
e  Rabbit,  be  passed  by  without  notice.     The  Hail-Storm 
d  he  were  inseparable :  they  ate,  slept,  and  hunted  together, 
d  shared  with  one  another  almost  all  that  they  possessed, 
f  there  be  anything  that  deserves  to  be  called  romantic  in 
Indian  character,   it  is  to  be  sought   for  in  friendships 
uch  as  this,  which  are  quite  common  among  many  of  the 
irairie  tribes. 

Slowly,  hour  after  hour,  that  weary  afternoon  dragged 
ay.     I  lay  in  Reynal's  lodge,  overcome  by  the  listless  tor- 
>r  that  pervaded  the  whole  encampment.     The  day's  work 
as  finished,  or  if  it  were  not,  the  inhabitants  had  resolved 
ot  to  finish  it  at  all,  and  all  were  dozing  quietly  within  the 
elter  of  the  lodges.     A  profound  lethargy,  the  very  spirit 
indolence,  seemed  to  have  sunk  upon  the  village.     Now 
d  then  I  could  hear  the  low  laughter  of  some  girl  from 
within  a  neighboring  lodge,  or  the  small  shrill  voices  of  a 
few  restless  children,  who  alone  were  moving  in  the  deserted 
area.     The  spirit  of  the  place  infected  me;  I  could  not  even 
think  consecutively;  I  was  fit  only  for  musing  and  reverie, 
when  at  last,  like  the  rest,  I  fell  asleep. 

When  evening  came  and  the  fires  were  lighted  round 
the  lodges,  a  select  family  circle  convened  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Reynal's  domicile.  It  was  composed  entirely  of  his  squaw's 
relatives,  a  mean  and  ignoble  clan,  among  whom  none  but 
the  Hail-Storm  held  forth  any  promise  of  future  distinction. 
Even  his  prospects  were  rendered  not  a  little  dubious  by 
the  character  of  the  family,  less  however  from  any  principle 


284  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

of  aristocratic  distinction  than  from  the  want  of  powerful 
supporters  to  assist  him  in  his  undertakings  and  help  to 
avenge  his  quarrels.  Raymond  and  I  sat  down  along  with 
them.  There  were  eight  or  ten  men  gathered  around  the 
fire,  together  with  about  as  many  women,  old  and  young, 
some  of  whom  were  tolerably  good-looking.  As  the  pipe 
passed  round  among  the  men,  a  lively  conversation  went 
forward,  more  merry  than  delicate,  and  at  length  two  or 
three  of  the  elder  women  (for  the  girls  were  somewhat 
diffident  and  bashful)  began  to  assail  Raymond  with  various 
pungent  witticisms.  Some  of  the  men  took  part,  and  an  old 
squaw  concluded  by  bestowing  on  him  a  ludicrous  nickname, 
at  which  a  general  laugh  followed  at  his  expense.  Raymond 
grinned  and  giggled,  and  made  several  futile  attempts  at 
repartee.  Knowing  the  impolicy  and  even  danger  of  suffer- 
ing myself  to  be  placed  in  a  ludicrous  light  among  the 
Indians,  I  maintained  a  rigid  inflexible  countenance,  and 
wholly  escaped  their  sallies. 

In  the  morning  I  found,  to  my  great  disgust,  that  the 
camp  was  to  retain  its  position  for  another  day.  I  dreaded 
its  langour  and  monotony,  and  to  escape  it  I  set  out  to  explore 
the  surrounding  mountains.  I  was  accompanied  by  a  faith- 
ful friend,  my  rifle,  the  only  friend  indeed  on  whose  prompt 
assistance  in  time  of  trouble  I  could  implicitly  rely.  Most 
of  the  Indians  in  the  village,  it  is  true,  professed  good-will 
toward  the  whites,  but  the  experience  of  others  and  my  own 
observation  had  taught  me  the  extreme  folly  of  confidence, 
and  the  utter  impossibility  of  foreseeing  to  what  sudden  acts 
the  strange  unbridled  impulses  of  an  Indian  may  urge  him. 
When  among  this  people  danger  is  never  so  near  as  when 
you  are -unprepared  for  it,  never  so  remote  as  when  you  are 
armed  and  on  the  alert  to  meet  it  any  moment.  Nothing 
offers  so  strong  a  temptation  to  their  ferocious  instincts  as 
the  appearance  of  timidity,  weakness,  or  security. 

Many  deep  and  gloomy  gorges,  choked  with  trees  and 


A  MOUNTAIN  HUNT  285 

bushes,  opened  from  the  sides  of  the  hills,  which  were  shaggy 

nth  forests  wherever  the  rocks  permitted  vegetation  to 
spring.  A  great  number  of  Indians  were  stalking  along 
the  edges  of  the  woods,  and  boys  were  whooping  and  laugh- 

ig  on  the  mountain-sides,  practicing  eye  and  hand,  and 
indulging  their  destructive  propensities  by  following  birds 
and  small  animals  and  killing  them  with  their  little  bows 
and  arrows.  There  was  one  glen  stretching  up  between  steep 
cliffs  far  into  the  bosom  of  the  mountain.  I  began  to 
end  along  its  bottom,  pushing  my  way  onward  among  the 
rocks,  trees,  and  bushes  that  obstructed  it.  A  slender  thread 
water  trickled  along  its  center,  which  since  issuing  from 
the  heart  of  its  native  rock  could  scarcely  have  been  warmed 
or  gladdened  by  a  ray  of  sunshine.  After  advancing  for  some 
time,  I  conceived  myself  to  be  entirely  alone;  but  coming  to 

,  part  of  the  glen  in  a  great  measure  free  octrees  and  under- 
growth, I  saw  at  some  distance  the  black  head  and  red  shoul- 
ders of  an  Indian  among  the  bushes  above.  The  reader  need 
not  prepare  himself  for  a  startling  adventure,  for  I  have  none 
to  relate.  The  head  and  shoulders  belonged  to  Mene-Seela, 
best  friend  in  the  village.  As  I  had  approached  noise- 
lessly with  my  moccasined  feet,  the  old  man  was  quite  uncon- 

cious  of  my  presence ;  and  turning  to  a  point  where  I  could 
gain  an  unobstructed  view  of  him,  I  saw  him  seated  alone, 
immovable  as  a  statue,  among  the  rocks  and  trees.  His  face 
was  turned  upward,  and  his  eyes  seemed  riveted  on  a  pine 
tree  springing  from  a  cleft  in  the  precipice  above.  The  crest 
of  the  pine  was  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  wind,  and  its  long 
limbs  waved  slowly  up  and  down,  as  if  the  tree  had  life. 
Looking  for  a  while  at  the  old  man,  I  was  satisfied  that  he 
was  engaged  in  an  act  of  worship  or  prayer,  or  communion 
of  some  kind  with  a  supernatural  being.  I  longed  to  pene- 
trate his  thoughts,  but  I  could  do  nothing  more  than  con- 
jecture and  speculate.  I  knew  that  though  the  intellect  of 
an  Indian  can  embrace  the  idea  of  an  all-wise,  all-powerful 


286  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Spirit,  the  supreme  Ruler  of  the  universe,  yet  his  mind  will 
not  always  ascend  into  communion  with  a  being  that  seems 
to  him  so  vast,  remote,  and  incomprehensible;  and  when 
danger  threatens,  when  his  hopes  are  broken,  when  the  black 
wing  of  sorrow  overshadows  him,  he  is  prone  to  turn  for 
relief  to  some  inferior  agency  less  removed  from  the  ordinary 
scope  of  his  faculties.  He  has  a  guardian  spirit  on  whom  he 
relies  for  succor  and  guidance.  To  him  all  nature  is  instinct 
with  mystic  influence.  Among  those  mountains  not  a  wild 
beast  was  prowling,  a  bird  singing,  or  a  leaf  fluttering,  that 
might  not  tend  to  direct  his  destiny  or  give  warning  of  what 
was  in  store  for  him;  and  he  watches  the  world  of  nature 
around  him  as  the  astrologer  watches  the  stars.  So  closely 
is  he  linked  with  it  that  his  guardian  spirit,  no  unsubstantial 
creation  of  the  fancy,  is  usually  embodied  in  the  form  of  some 
living  thing — a  bear,  a  wolf,  an  eagle,  or  a  serpent ;  and 
Mene-Seela,  as  he  gazed  intently  on  the  old  pine  tree, 
might  believe  it  to  enshrine  the  fancied  guide  and  protector 
of  his  life. 

Whatever  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  the  old  man,  it 
was  no  part  of  sense  or  of  delicacy  to  disturb  him.  Silently 
retracing  my  footseps,  I  descended  the  glen  until  I  came  to 
a  point  where  I  could  climb  the  steep  precipices  that  shut  it 
in,  and  gain  the  side  of  the  mountain.  Looking  up,  I  saw 
a  tall  peak  rising  among  the  woods.  Something  impelled 
me  to  climb ;  I  had  not  felt  for  many  a  day  such  strength 
and  elasticity  of  limb.  An  hour  and  a  half  of  slow  and 
often  intermitted  labor  brought  me  to  the  very  summit; 
and  emerging  from  the  dark  shadows  of  the  rocks  and  pines, 
I  stepped  forth  into  the  light,  and  walking  along  the  sunny 
verge  of  a  precipice,  seated  myself  on  its  extreme  point. 
Looking  between  the  mountain  peaks  to  the  westward,  the 
pale  blue  prairie  was  stretching  to  the  farthest  horizon  like 
a  serene  and  tranquil  ocean.  The  surrounding  mountains 
were  in  themselves  sufficiently  striking  and  impressive,  but 
this  contrast  gave  redoubled  effect  to  their  stern  features. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PASSAGE   OF   THE   MOUNTAINS 

When  I  took  leave  of  Shaw  at  La  Bonte's  camp,  I 
promised  that  I  would  meet  him  at  Fort  Laramie  on  the  first 
of  August.  That  day,  according  to  my  reckoning,  was  now 
close  at  hand.  It  was  impossible,  at  best,  to  fulfill  my  engage- 
ment exactly,  and  my  meeting  with  him  must  have  been 
postponed  until  many  days  after  the  appointed  time,  had 
not  the  plans  of  the  Indians  very  well  coincided  with  my 
own.  They  too,  intended  to  pass  the  mountains  and  move 
toward  the  fort.  To  do  so  at  this  point  was  impossible, 
because  there  was  no  opening;  and  in  order  to  find  a  passage 
we  were  obliged  to  go  twelve  or  fourteen  miles  southward. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  the  camp  got  in  motion,  defiling  back 
through  the  mountains  along  the  same  narrow  passage  by 
which  they  had  entered.  I  rode  in  company  with  three  or 
'  four  young  Indians  at  the  rear,  and  the  moving  swarm 
stretched  before  me  in  the  ruddy  light  of  sunset,  or  in  the 
deep  shadow  of  the  mountains  far  beyond  my  sight.  It  was 
an  ill-omened  spot  they  chose  to  encamp  upon.  When  they 
were  there  just  a  year  before,  a  war  party  of  ten  men,  led 
by  the  Whirlwind's  son,  had  gone  out  against  the  enemy, 
and  not  one  had  ever  returned.  This  was  the  immediate 
cause  of  this  season's  warlike  preparations.  I  was  not  a  little 
astonished,  when  I  came  to  the  camp,  at  the  confusion  of 
horrible  sounds  with  which  it  was  filled ;  howls,  shrieks,  and 
wailings  were  heard  from  all  the  women  present,  many  of 
whom,  not  content  with  this  exhibition  of  grief  for  the  loss 
of  their  friends  and  relatives,  were  gashing  their  legs  deeply 
with  knives.  A  warrior  in  the  village,  who  had  lost  a 
brother  in  the  expedition,  chose  another  mode  of  displaying 

287 


288  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

his  sorrow.  The  Indians,  who,  though  often  rapacious,  are 
utterly  devoid  of  avarice,  are  accustomed  in  times  of  mourn- 
ing, or  on  other  solemn  occasions,  to  give  away  the  whole 
of  their  possessions  and  reduce  themselves  to  nakedness  and 
\vant.  The  warrior  in  question  led  his  two  best  horses  into  , 
the  center  of  the  village,  and  gave  them  away  to  his  friends ; 
upon  which  songs  and  acclamations  in  praise  of  his  generos- 
ity mingled  with  the  cries  of  the  women. 

On  the  next  morning  we  entered  once  more  among  the 
mountains.  There  was  nothing  in  their  appearance  either 
grand  or  picturesque,  though  they  were  desolate  to  the  last 
degree,  being  mere  piles  of  black  and  broken  rocks  without 
trees  or  vegetation  of  any  kind.  As  we  passed  among  them 
along  a  wide  valley,  I  noticed  Raymond  riding  by  the  side 
of  a  young  squaw,  to  whom  he  was  addressing  various 
insinuating  compliments.  All  the  old  squaws  in  the  neigh- 
borhood watched  his  proceedings  in  great  admiration,  and  the 
girl  herself  would  turn  aside  her  head  and  laugh.  Just  then 
the  old  mule  thought  proper  to  display  her  vicious  pranks; 
she  began  to  rear  and  plunge  most  furiously.  Raymond  was 
an  excellent  rider,  and  at  first  he  stuck  fast  in  his  seat;  but 
the  moment  after,  I  saw  the  mule's  hind-legs  flourishing  in 
the  air,  and  my  unlucky  follower  pitching  head  foremost  over 
her  ears.  There  was  a  burst  of  screams  and  laughter  from 
all  the  women,  in  which  his  mistress  herself  took  part,  and 
Raymond  was  instantly  assailed  by  such  a  shower  of  witti- 
cisms that  he  was  glad  to  ride  forward  out  of  hearing. 

Not  long  after,  as  I  rode  near  him,  I  heard  him  shouting 
to  me.  He  was  pointing  toward  a  detached  rocky  hill  that 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  valley  before  us,  and  from  behind 
it  a  long  file  of  elk  came  out  at  full  speed  and  entered  an 
opening  in  the  side  of  the  mountain.  They  had  scarcely  dis- 
appeared when  whoops  and  exclamations  came  from  fifty 
voices  around  me.  The  young  men  leaped  from  their  horses, 
flung  down  their  heavy  buffalo  robes,  and  ran  at  full  speed 


lari 
am, 


ctll 

5 

in 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  289 

toward  the  foot  of  the  nearest  mountain.  Reynal  also  broke 
away  at  a  gallop  in  the  same  direction.  "Come  on  !  come  on  !" 
he  called  to  us.  "Do  you  see  that  band  of  bighorn  up  yonder:* 
If  there's  one  of  them,  there's  a  hundred!" 

In  fact,  near  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  I  could  see  a 

rge  number  of  small  white  objects  moving  rapidly  upward 
ong  the  precipices,  while  others  were  filing  along  its  rocky 
profile.     Anxious  to  see  the  sport,  I  galloped  forward,  and 
entering  a   passage   in   the  side   of   the   mountain,   ascended 
among  the  loose  rocks  as  far  as  my  horse  could  carry  me. 

'ere  I   fastened  her  to  an  old  pine  tree  that  stood  alone, 

:orching  in  the  sun.    At  that  moment  Raymond  called  to  me 
rom  the  right  that  another  band  of  sheep  was  close  at  hand 
in  that  direction.     I  ran  up  to  the  top  of  the  opening,  which 

,ve  me  a  full  view  into  the  rocky  gorge  beyond ;  and  here  I 
lainly  saw  some  fifty  or  sixty  sheep,  almost  within  rifle-shot, 
clattering  upward  among  the  rocks,  and  endeavoring,  after 

ieir  usual  custom,  to  reach  the  highest,  point.     The  naked 
ndians  bounded  up  lightly  in  pursuit.      In  a  moment  the 
game  and  hunters  disappeared.     Nothing  could  be  seen  or 
heard  but  the  occasional  report  of  a  gun,  more  and  more  dis- 
tant, reverberating  among  the  rocks. 

I  turned  to  descend,  and  as  I  did  so  I  could  see  the  valley 

low  alive  with  Indians  passing  rapidly  through  it,  on  horse- 
k  and  on  foot.  A  little  farther  on,  all  were  stopping  as 
they  came  up ;  the  camp  was  preparing,  and  the  lodges  rising. 
I  descended  to  this  spot,  and  soon  after  Reynal  and  Raymond 
returned.  They  bore  between  them  a  sheep  which  they  had 
pelted  to  death  with  stones  from  the  edge  of  a  ravine,  along  the 
bottom  of  which  it  was  attempting  to  escape.  One  by  one  the 
hunters  came  dropping  in ;  yet  such  is  the  activity  of  the 
Rocky  Mountain  sheep  that,  although  sixty  or  seventy  men 
were  out  in  pursuit,  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  animals  were 
killed.  Of  these  only  one  was  a  full-grown  male.  He  had  a 
pair  of  horns  twisted  like  a  ram's,  the  dimensions  of  which 


E 


290  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

were  almost  beyond  belief.  I  have  seen  among  the  Indians 
ladles  with  long  handles,  capable  of  containing  more  than  a 
quart,  cut  out  from  such  horns. 

There  is  something  peculiarly  interesting  in  the  character 
and  habits  of  the  mountain  sheep,  whose  chosen  retreats  are 
above  the  region  of  vegetation  and  of  storms,  and  who  leap 
among  the  giddy  precipices  of  their  aerial  home  as  actively 
as  the  antelope  skims  over  the  prairies  below. 

Through  the  whole  of  the  next  morning  we  were  moving 
forward  among  the  hills.  On  the  following  day  the  heights 
gathered  around  us,  and  the  passage  of  the  mountains  began 
in  earnest.  Before  the  village  left  its  camping  ground,  I  set 
forward  in  company  with  the  Eagle-Feather,  a  man  of  pow- 
erful frame  but  of  bad  and  sinister  face.  His  son,  a  light- 
limbed  boy,  rode  with  us,  and  another  Indian,  named  the 
Panther,  was  also  of  the  party.  Leaving  the  village  out  of 
sight  behind  us,  we  rode  together  up  a  rocky  defile.  After 
a  while,  however,  the  Eagle-Feather  discovered  in  the  dis- 
tance some  appearance  of  game,  and  set  off  with  his  son  in 
pursuit  of  it,  while  I  went  forward  with  the  Panther.  This 
was  a  mere  nom  de  guerre;1  for,  like  many  Indians,  he  con- 
cealed his  real  name  out  of  some  superstitious  notion.  He 
was  a  very  noble  looking  fellow.  As  he  suffered  his  orna- 
mented buffalo  robe  to  fall  in  folds  about  his  loins,  his  stately 
and  graceful  figure  wTas  fully  displayed';  and  while  he  sat 
his  horse  in  an  easy  attitude,  the  long  feathers  of  the  prairie 
cock  fluttering  from  the  crown  of  his  head,  he  seemed  the 
very  model  of  a  wild  prairie-rider.  He  had  not  the  same 
features  with  those  of  other  Indians.  Unless  his  handsome 
face  greatly  belied  him,  he  was  free  from  the  jealousy,  sus- 
picion, and  malignant  cunning  of  his  people.  For  the  most 
part,  a  civilized  white  man  can  discover  but  very  few  points 
of  sympathy  between  his  own  nature  and  that  of  an  Indian. 
With  every  disposition  to  do  justice  to  their  good  qualities, 

*War  name. 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  291 

he  must  be  conscious  that  an  impassable  gulf  lies  between 
him  and  his  red  brethren  of  the  prairie.  Nay,  so  alien  to 
himself  do  they  appear  that,  having  breathed  for  a  few 
months  or  a  few  weeks  the  air  of  this  region,  he  begins  to 
look  upon  them  as  a  troublesome  and  dangerous  species  of 

§[ld  beasts  and,  if  expedient, .  he  could  shoot  them  with  as 
tie  compunction  as  they  themselves  would  experience  after 
rforming  the  same  office  upon  him.  Yet,  in  the  counte- 
nance of  the  Panther,  I  gladly  read  that  there  were  at  least 
some  points  of  sympathy  between  him  and  me.  We  were 
excellent  friends,  and  as  we  rode  forward  together  through 
rocky  passages,  deep  dells,  and  little  barren  plains,  he  occu- 
pied himself  very  zealously  in  teaching  me  the  Dakota  lan- 
guage. After  a  while,  we  came  to  a  little  grassy  recess  where 
some  gooseberry  bushes  were  growing  at  the  foot  of  a  rock: 
and  these  offered  such  temptation  to  my  companion  that  he 
gave  over  his  instruction,  and  stopped  so  long  to  gather 
the  fruit  that  before  we  were  in  motion  again  the  van  of  the 
village  came  in  view.  An  old  woman  appeared,  leading 
down  her  pack  horse  among  the  rocks  above.  Savage  after 
savage  followed,  and  the  little  dell  was  soon  crowded  with 
the  throng. 

That  morning's  march  was  one  not  easily  to  be  forgotten. 
It  led  us  through  a  sublime  waste,  a  wilderness  of  mountains 
and  pine  forests,  over  which  the  spirit  of  loneliness  and  silence 
seemed  brooding.  Above  and  below  little  could  be  seen  but 
the  same  dark  green  foliage.  It  overspread  the  valleys,  and 
the  mountains  were  clothed  with  it  from  the  black  rocks  that 
crowned  their  summits  to  the  impetuous  streams  that  circled 
round  their  base.  Scenery  like  this,  it  might  seem,  could  have 
no  very  cheering  effect  on  the  mind  of  a  sick  man  (for  today 
my  disease  had  again  assailed  me)  in  the  midst  of  a  horde  of 
savages;  but  if  the  reader  has  ever  wandered,  with  a  true 
hunter's  spirit,  among  the  forests  of  Maine  or  the  more  pic- 
turesque solitudes  of  the  Adirondack  Mountains,  he  will 


292  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

understand  how  the  somber  woods  and  mountains  around 
me  might  have  awakened  any  other  feelings  than  those  of 
gloom.  In  truth  they  recalled  gladdening  recollections  of 
similar  scenes  in  a  distant  and  far  different  land.  After  we 
had  been  advancing  for  several  hours  through  passages  always 
narrow,  often  obstructed  and  difficult,  I  saw  at  a  little  dis- 
tance on  our  right  a  narrow  opening  between  two  high 
wooded  precipices.  All  within  seemed  darkness  and  mystery. 
In  the  mood  in  which  I  found  myself  something  strongly 
impelled  me  to  enter.  Passing  over  the  intervening  space  I 
guided  my  horse  through  the  rocky  portal,  and  as  I  did  so 
instinctively  drew  the  covering  from  my  rifle,  half  expecting 
that  some  unknown  evil  lay  in  ambush  within  those  dreary 
recesses.  The  place  was  shut  in  among  tall  cliffs,  and  so 
deeply  shadowed  by  a  host  of  old  pine  trees  that,  though  the 
sun  shone  bright  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  nothing  but  a 
dim  twilight  could  penetrate  within.  As  far  as  I  could  see 
it  had  no  tenants  except  a  few  hawks  and  owls,  who,  dis- 
mayed at  my  intrusion,  flapped  hoarsely  away  among  the 
shaggy  branches.  I  moved  forward,  determined  to  explore 
the  mystery  to  the  bottom,  and  soon  became  involved  among 
the  pines.  The  genius  of  the  place  exercised  a  strange  influ- 
ence upon  my  mind.  Its  faculties  were  stimulated  into 
extraordinary  activity,  and  as  I  passed  along  many  half-for- 
gotten incidents,  and  the  images  of  persons  and  things  far 
distant,  rose  rapidly  before  me  with  surprising  distinctness. 
In  that  perilous  wilderness,  eight  hundred  miles  removed 
beyond  the  faintest  vestige  of  civilization,  the  scenes  of 
another  hemisphere,  the  seat  of  ancient  refinement,  passed 
before  me  more  like  a  succession  of  vivid  paintings  than  any 
mere  dreams  of  the  fancy.  I  saw  the  church  of  St.  Peter's1 
illumined  on  the  evening  of  Easter  Day,  the  whole  majestic 

1The  church  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  the  greatest  and  most  celebrated  of  all 
churches,  was  begun  in  the  fifteenth  century ,  the  work  of  building  continuing 
into  the  seventeenth  century.  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  were  among  those 
who  lavished  upon  it  their  genius  as  artists  or  architects. 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  293 

pile,  from  the  cross  to  the  foundation  stone,  penciled  in  fire 
and  shedding  a  radiance,  like  the  serene  light  of  the  moon, 
on  the  sea  of  upturned  faces  below.  I  saw  the  peak  of 
Mount  Etna  towering  above  its  inky  mantle  of  clouds  and 
lightly  curling  its  wreaths  of  milk-white  smoke  against  the 
soft  sky  flushed  with  the  Sicilian  sunset.  I  saw  also  the 
gloomy  vaulted  passages  and  the  narrow  cells  of  the  Passion- 
ist1  convent,  where  I  once  had  sojourned  for  a  few  days  with 
the  fanatical  monks,  its  pale,  stern  inmates  in  their  robes  of 
black,  and  the  grated  window  from  whence  I  could  look  out, 
a  forbidden  indulgence,  upon  the  melancholy  Coliseum2  and 
the  crumbling  ruins  of  the  Eternal  City.3  The  mighty  gla- 
ciers of  the  Spliigen  too  rose  before  me,  gleaming  in  the  sun 
like  polished  silver,  and  those  terrible  solitudes,  the  birth- 
place of  the  Rhine,  where,  bursting  from  the  bowels  of  its 
native  mountains,  it  lashes  and  foams  down  the  rocky  abyss 
into  the  little  valley  of  Andeer.  These  recollections,  and 
many  more,  crowded  upon  me,  until  remembering  that  it  was 
hardly  wise  to  remain  long  in  such  a  place,  I  mounted  again 
and  retraced  my  steps.  Issuing  from  between  the  rocks  I 
saw  a  few  rods  before  me  the  men,  women,  and  children, 
dogs  and  horses,  still  filing  slowly  across  the  little  glen.  A 
bare  round  hill  rose  directly  above  them.  I  rode  to. the  top, 
and  from  this  point  I  could  look  down  on  the  savage  proces- 
sion as  it  passed  just  beneath  my  feet,  and  far  on  the  left  I 
could  see  its  thin  and  broken  line,  visible  only  at  intervals, 
stretching  away  for  miles  among  the  mountains.  On  the 
farthest  ridge  horsemen  were  still  descending  like  mere  specks 
in  the  distance. 

I  remained  on  the  hill  until  all  had  passed,  and  then, 
descending,  followed  after  them.  A  little  farther  on  I  found 

!The  Passionists  are  a  Roman  Catholic  order  founded  in  1737;  so-called 
because  the  members,  in  addition  to  the  usual  monastic  vows,  take  a  fourth  vow 
to  meditate  and  preach  upon  the  Passion,  or  sufferings  and  death,  of  Jesus.  For 
Parkman's  account  of  his  stay  in  the  monastery  at  Rome,  see  Sedgwick's  Francis 
Parkman.  96-103. 

2The  great  amphitheatre  at  Rome. 

8Rome. 


294  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

a  very  small  meadow,  set  deeply  among  steep  mountains ;  and 
here  the  whole  village  had  encamped.  The  little  spot  was 
crowded  with  the  confused  and  disorderly  host.  Some  of  the 
lodges  were  already  completely  prepared,  or  the  squaws  per- 
haps were  busy  in  drawing  the  heavy  coverings  of  skin  over 
the  bare  poles.  Others  were  as  yet  mere  skeletons,  while 
others  still — poles,  covering,  and  all — lay  scattered  in  com- 
plete disorder  on  the  ground  among  buffalo  robes,  bales  of 
meat,  domestic  utensils,  harness,  and  weapons.  '  Squaws  were 
screaming  to  one  another,  horses  rearing  and  plunging,  dogs 
yelping,  eager  to  be  disburdened  of  their  loads,  .while  the 
fluttering  of  feathers  and  the  gleam  of  barbaric  ornaments 
added  liveliness  to  the  scene.  The  small  children  ran  about 
amid  the  crowd,  while  many  of  the  boys  were  scrambling 
among  the  overhanging  rocks,  and  standing,  with  their  little 
bows  in  their  hands,  looking  down  upon  the  restless  throng. 
In  contrast  with  the  general  confusion,  a  circle  of  old  men 
and  warriors  sat  in  the  midst,  smoking  in  profound  indiffer- 
ence and  tranquillity.  The  disorder  at  length  subsided.  The 
horses  were  driven  away  to  feed  along  the  adjacent  valley, 
and  the  camp  assumed  an  air  of  listless  repose.  It  was 
scarcely  past  noon;  a  vast  white  canopy  of  smoke  from  a 
burning  forest  to  the  eastward  overhung  the  place,  and  par- 
tially obscured  the  sun ;  yet  the  heat  was  almost  insupportable. 
The  lodges  stood  crowded  together  without  order  in  the 
narrow  space.  Each  was  a  perfect  hothouse,  within  which 
the  lazy  proprietor  lay  sleeping.  The  camp  was  silent  as 
death.  Nothing  stirred  except  now  and  then  an  old  woman 
passing  from  lodge  to  lodge.  The  girls  and  young  men  sat 
together  in  groups  under  the  pine  trees  upon  the  surround- 
ing heights.  The  dogs  lay  panting  on  the  ground,  too  lazy 
even  to  growl  at  the  white  man.  At  the  entrance  of  the 
meadow  there  was  a  cold  spring  among  the  rocks,  completely 
overshadowed  by  tall  trees  and  dense  undergrowth.  In  this 
cool  and  shady  retreat  a  number  of  girls  were  assembled,  sit- 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  295 

ting  together  on  rocks  and  fallen  logs,  discussing  the  latest 
gossip  of  the  village,  or  laughing  and  throwing  water  with 
their  hands  at  the  intruding  Meneaska.  The  minutes  seemed 
lengthened  into  hours.  I  lay  for  a  long  time  under  a  tree, 
studying  the  Ogallala  tongue  with  the  zealous  instructions  of 

K  friend  the  Panther.  When  we  were  both  tired  of  this  I 
nt  and  lay  down  by  the  side  of  a  deep,  clear  pool  formed 
the  w^ater  of  the  spring.  A  shoal  of  little  fishes  of  about 
pin's  length  were  playing  in  it,  sporting  together,  as  it 
seemed,  very  amicably;  but  on  closer  observation,  I  saw  that 
.  they  were  engaged  in  a  cannibal  warfare  among  themselves. 
Now  and  then  a  small  one  would  fall  a  victim,  and  immedi- 
ately disappear  down  the  maw  of  his  voracious  conqueror. 
Every  moment,  however,  the  tyrant  of  the  pool,  a  monster 
about  three  inches  long,  with  staring  goggle  eyes,  would 
slowly  issue  forth  with  quivering  fins  and  tail  from  under 
the  shelving  bank.  The  small  fry  at  this  would  suspend  their 
hostilities,  and  scatter  in  a  panic  at  the  appearance  of 
overwhelming  force. 

"Soft-hearted  philanthropists,"  thought  I,  "may  sigh  long 
for  their  peaceful  millennium ;  for  from  minnows  up  to  men, 
life  is  an  incessant  battle." 

Evening  approached  at  last,  the  tall  mountain-tops  around 
were  still  gay  and  bright  in  sunshine,  while  our  deep  glen 
was  completely  shadowed.  I  left  the  camp  and  ascended  a 
neighboring  hill,  whose  rocky  summit  commanded  a  wide 
view  over  the  surrounding  wilderness.  The  sun  was  still 
glaring  through  the  stiff  pines  on  the  ridge  of  the  western 
mountain.  In  a  moment  he  was  gone,  and  as  the  landscape 
rapidly  darkened,  I  turned  again  toward  the  village.  As  I 
descended  the  hill,  the  howling  of  wolves  and  the  barking 
of  foxes  came  up  out  of  the  dim  woods  from  far  and  near. 
The  camp  was  glowing  with  a  multitude  of  fires,  and  alive 
with  dusky  naked  figures  whose  tall  shadows  flitted  among 
the  surrounding  crags. 


296  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

I  found  a  circle  of  smokers  seated  in  their  usual  place; 
that  is,  on  the  ground  before  the  lodge  of  a  certain  warrior, 
who  seemed  to  be  generally  known  for  his  social  qualities. 
I  sat  down  to  smoke  a  parting  pipe  with  my  savage  friends. 
That  day  was  the  first  of  August,  on  which  I  had  promised 
to  meet  Shaw  at  Fort  Laramie.  The  Fort  was  less  than  two 
days'  journey  distant,  and  that  my  friend  need  not  suffer 
anxiety  on  my  account,  I  resolved  to  push  forward  as  rapidly 
as  possible  rxxthe  plate  of  meeting.  1  went  to  look  after  the 
Hail-Storm,  and  having  found  him,  I  offered  him  a  handful 
of  hawks'-bells  and  a  paper  of  vermilion,  on  condition  that  he 
would  guide  me  in  the  morning  through  the  mountains  within 
sight  of  Laramie  Creek. 

The  Hail-Storm  ejaculated  "How!'"  and  accepted  the 
gift.  Nothing  more  was  said  on  either  side ;  the  matter  was 
settled,  and  I  lay  down  to  sleep  in  Kongra-Tonga's  lodge. 

Long  before  daylight  Raymond  shook  me  by  the  shoulder. 

"Everything  is  ready,"  he  said. 

I  went  out.  The  morning  was  chill,  damp,  and  dark; 
and  the  whole  camp  seemed  asleep.  The  Hail-Storm  sat  on 
horseback  before  the  lodge,  and  my  mare  Pauline  and  the 
mule  which  Raymond  rode  were  picketed  near  it.  We  sad- 
dled and  made  our  other  arrangements  for  the  journey,  but 
before  these  were  completed  the  camp  began  to  stir,  and  the 
lodge-coverings  fluttered  and  rustled  as  the  squaws  pulled 
them  down  in  preparation  for  departure.  Just  as  the  light 
began  to  appear  we  left  the  ground,  passing  up  through  a 
narrow  opening  among  the  rocks  which  led  eastward  out  of 
the  meadow.  Gaining  the  top  of  this  passage,  I  turned  round 
and  sat  looking  back  upon  the  camp,  dimly  visible  in  the  gray 
light  of  the  morning.  All  was  alive  with  the  bustle  of  prepa- 
ration. I  turned  away,  half  unwilling  to  take  a  final  leave 
of  my  savage  associates.  We  turned  to  the  right,  passing 
among  the  rocks  and  pine  trees  so  dark  that  for  a  while  we 
could  scarcely  see  our  way.  The  country  in  front  was  wild 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  -U' 

and  broken,  half  hill,  half  plain,  partly  open  and  partly 
covered  with  woods  of  pine  and  oak.  Barriers  of  lofty 
mountains  encompassed  it;  the  woods  were  fresh  and  cool  in 
the  early  morning ;  the  peaks  of  the  mountains  were  wreathed 
with  mist,  and  sluggish  vapors  were  entangled  among  the 
forests  upon  their  sides.  At  length  the  black  pinnacle  of  the 
tallest  mountain  was  tipped  with  gold  by  the  rising  sun. 
About  that  time  the  Hail-Storm,  who  rode  in  front,  gave  a 
low  exclamation.  Some  large  animal  leaped  up  from  among 
the  bushes,  and  an  elk,  as  I  thought,  his  horns  thrown  back 
over  his  neck,  darted  past  us  across  the  open  space  and 
bounded  like  a  mad  thing  away  among  the  adjoining  pines. 
Raymond  was  soon  out  of  his  saddle,  but  before  he  could 
fire,  the  animal  was  full  two  hundred  yards  distant.  The 
ball  struck  its  mark,  though  much  too  low  for  mortal  effect. 
The  elk,  however,  wheeled  in  its  flight,  and  ran  at  full  speed 
long  the  trees,  nearly  at  right  angles  to  his  former  course, 
fired  and. broke  his  shoulder;  still  he  moved  on,  limping 
.own  into  the  neighboring  woody  hollow,  whither  the  young 
Indian  followed  and  killed  him.  When  we  reached  the  spot 
we  discovered  him  to  be  no  elk,  but  a  black-tailed  deer,  an 
animal  nearly  twice  the  size  of  a  common  deer,  and  quite 
unknown  to  the  East.  We  began  to  cut  him  up ;  the  reports 
of  the  rifles  had  reached  the  ears  of  the  Indians,  and  before 
iur  task  was  finished  several  of  them  came  to  the  spot.  Leav- 
g  the  hide  of  the  deer  to  the  Hail-Storm,  we  hung  as  much 
the  meat  as  we  wanted  behind  our  saddles,  left  the  rest  to 
e  Indians,  and  resumed  our  journey.  Meanwhile  the  vil- 
was  on  its  way,  and  had  gone  so  far  that  to  get  in 
vance  of  it  was  impossible.  Therefore  we  directed  our 
urse  so  as  to  strike  its  line  of  march  at  the  nearest  point, 
n  a  short  time,  through  the  dark  trunks  of  the  pines,  we 
could  see  the  figures  of  the  Indians  as  they  passed.  Once 
more  we  were  among  them.  They  were  moving  with  even 
more  than  their  usual  precipitation,  crowded  close  together  in 


298  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

a  narrow  pass  between  rocks  and  old  pine  trees.  We  were  on 
the  eastern  descent  of  the  mountain,  and  soon  came  to  a  rough 
and  difficult  defile,  leading  down  a  very  steep  declivity.  The 
whole  swarm  poured  down  together,  filling  the  rocky  passage- 
way like  some  turbulent  mountain  stream.  The  mountains 
before  us  were  on  fire,  and  had  been  so  for  weeks.  The  view 
in  front  was  obscured  by  a  vast  dim  sea  of  smoke  and  vapor, 
while  on  either  hand  the  tall  cliffs,  bearing  aloft  their  crest 
of  pines,  thrust  their  heads  boldly  through  it,  and  the  sharp 
pinnacles  and  broken  ridges  of  the  mountains  beyond  them 
were  faintly  traceable  as  through  a  veil.  The  scene  in  itself 
was  most  grand  and  imposing,  but  with  the  savage  multitude, 
the  armed  warriors,  the  naked  children,  the  gayly  appareled 
girls,  pouring  impetuously  down  the  heights,  it  would  have 
formed  a  noble  subject  for  a  painter,  and  only  the  pen  of  a 
Scott  could  have  done  it  justice  in  description. 

We  passed  over  a  burnt  tract  where  the  ground  was  hot 
beneath  the  horses'  feet,  and  between  the  blazing  sides  of  two 
mountains.  Before  long  wre  had  descended  to  a  softer 
region,  where  we  found  a  succession  of  little  valleys  watered 
by  a  stream,  along  the  borders  of  which  grew  abundance  of 
wild  gooseberries  and  currants,  and  the  children  and  many 
of  the  men  straggled  from  the  line  of  march  to  gather  them 
as  we  passed  along.  Descending  still  farther,  the  view 
changed  rapidly.  The  burning  mountains  were  behind  us, 
and  through  the  open  valleys  in  front  we  could  see  the  ocean- 
like  prairie  stretching  beyond  the  sight.  After  passing 
through  a  line  of  trees  that  skirted  the  brook,  the  Indians 
filed  out  upon  the  plains.  I  was  thirsty  and  knelt  down  by 
the  little  stream  to  drink.  As  I  mounted  again  I  very  care- 
lessly left  my  rifle  among  the  grass,  and  my  thoughts  being 
otherwise  absorbed,  I  rode  for  some  distance  before  discover- 
ing its  absence.  As  the  reader  may  conceive,  I  lost  no  time  in 
turning  about  and  galloping  back  in  search  of  it.  Passing  the 
line  of  Indians,  I  watched  every  warrior  as  he  rode  by  me  at 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  .        299 

a  canter,  and  at  length  discovered  my  rifle  in  the  hands  of 
one  of  them,  who,  on  my  approaching  to  claim  it,  immediately 
gave  it  up.  Having  no  other  means  of  acknowledging  the 
obligation,  I  took  off  one  of  my  spurs  and  gave  it  to  him.  He 
was  greatly  delighted,  looking  upon  it  as  a  distinguished  mark 
of  favor,  and  immediately  held  out  his  foot  for  me  to  buckle 
it  on.  As  soon  as  I  had  done  so,  he  struck  it  with  all  his 
.  force  into  the  side  of  his  horse,  who  gave  a  violent  leap. 
The  Indian  laughed  and  spurred  harder  than  before.  At 
this  the  horse  shot  away  like  an  arrow,  amid  the  screams  and 
laughter  of  the  squaws,  and  the  ejaculations  of  the  men,  who 
exclaimed:  "Washtay! — Good!"  at  the  potent  effect  of  my 
gift.  The  Indian  had  no  saddle,  and  nothing  in  place  of  a 
bridle  except  a  leather  string  tied  round  the  horse's  jaw.  The 
animal  was  of  course  wholly  uncontrollable,  and  stretched 
away  at  full  speed  over  the  prairie,  till  he  and  his  rider  van- 
ished behind  a  distant  swell.  I  never  saw  the  man  again,  but 
I  presume  no  harm  came  to  him.  An  Indian  on  horseback 
has  more  lives  than  a  cat. 

The  village  encamped  on  a  scorching  prairie,  close  to  the 
foot  of  the  mountains.  The  heat  was  most  intense  and  pene- 
trating. The  coverings  of  the  lodges  were  raised  a  foot  or 
more  from  the  ground,  in  order  to  procure  some  circulation 
of  air ;  and  Reynal  thought  proper  to  lay  aside  his  trapper's 
dress  of  buckskin  and  assume  the  very  scanty  costume  of  an 
Indian.  Thus  elegantly  attired,  he  stretched  himself  in  his 
lodge  on  a  buffalo  robe,  alternately  cursing  the  heat  and  puff- 
ing at  the  pipe  which  he  and  I  passed  between  us.  There 
was  present  also  a  select  circle  of  Indian  friends  and  relatives. 
A  small  boiled  puppy  was  served  up  as  a  parting  feast,  to 
which  was  added,  by  way  of  dessert,  a  wooden  bowl  of  goose- 
berries from  the  mountains. 

"Look  there,"  said  Reynal,  pointing  out  of  the  opening 
of  his  lodge ;  "do  you  see  that  line  of  buttes  about  fifteen  miles 
off?  Well,  now,  do  you  see  that  farthest  one,  with  the  white 


300  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

speck  on  the  face  of  it?  Do  you  think  you  ever  saw  it 
before?" 

"It  looks  to  me,"  said  I,  ""like  the  hill  that  we  were 
camped  under  when  we  were  on  Laramie  Creek,  six  or  eight 
weeks  ago." 

"You've  hit  it,"  answered  Reynal. 

"Go  and  bring  in  the  animals,  Raymond,"  said  I ;  "we'll 
camp  there  to-night,  and  start  for  the  fort  in  the  morning." 

The  mare  and  the  mule  were  soon  before  the  lodge.  We 
saddled  them,  and  in  the  meantime  a  number  of  Indians  col- 
lected about  us.  The  virtues  of  Pauline,  my  strong,  fleet,  and 
hardy  little  mare,  were  well  known  in  camp,  and  several  of 
the  visitors  were  mounted  upon  good  horses  which  they  had 
brought  me  as  presents.  I  promptly  declined  their  offers, 
since  accepting  them  would  have  involved  the  necessity  of 
transferring  poor  Pauline  into  their  barbarous  hands.  We 
took  leave  of  Reynal,  but  not  of  the  Indians,  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  dispense  with  such  superfluous  ceremonies.  Leaving 
the  camp  we  rode  straight  over  the  prairie  toward  the  white- 
faced  bluff,  whose  pale  ridges  swelled  gently  against  the  hori- 
zon like  a  cloud.  An  Indian  went  with  us,  whose  name  I  for- 
.get,  though  the  ugliness  of  his  face  and  the  ghastly  width  of 
his  mouth  dwell  vividly  in  my  recollection.  The  antelope 
were  numerous,  but  we  did  not  heed  them.  We  rode 
directly  toward  our  destination,  over  the  arid  plains  and 
barren  hills;  until,  late  in  the  afternoon,  half  spent  with  heat, 
thifst,  and  fatigue,  we  saw  a  gladdening  sight,  the  long  line 
of  trees  and  the  deep  gulf  that  mark  the  course  of  Laramie 
Creek.  Passing  through  the  growth  of  huge  dilapidated  old 
cottonwood  trees  that  bordered  the  creek,  we  rode  across 
to  the  other  side.  The  rapid  and  foaming  waters  were  filled 
with  fish,  playing  and  splashing  in  the  shallows.  As  we 
gained  the  farther  bank,  our  horses  turned  eagerly  to  drink, 
and  we,  kneeling  on  the  sand,  followed  their  example.  We 
had  not  gone  far  before  the  scene, began  to  grow  familiar. 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  301 

"We  are  getting  near  home,  Raymond,"  said  I. 

There  stood  the  big  tree  under  which  we  had  encamped 
so  long;  there  were  the  white  cliffs  that  used  to  look  down 
upon  our  tent  when  it  stood  at  the  bend  of  the  creek;  there 
was  the  meadow  in  which  our  horses  had  grazed  for  weeks, 
and  a  little  farther  on,  the  prairie-dog  village  where  I  had 
beguiled  many  a  languid  hour  in  persecuting  the  unfortunate 
inhabitants. 

"We  are  going  to  catch  it  now,"  said  Raymond,  turning 

broad,  vacant  face  up  towards  the  sky. 

In  truth,  the  landscape,  the  cliffs  and  the  meadow,  the 
ream  and  the  groves,  were  darkening  fast.  Black  masses 
:  cloud  were  swelling  up  in  the  south,  and  the  thunder  was 
rowiing  ominously. 

"We  will  camp  there,"  I  said,  pointing  to  a  dense  grove 
of  trees  lower  down  the  stream.  Raymond  and  I  turned 
toward  it,  but  the  Indian  stopped  and  called  earnestly  after 
us.  When  we  demanded  what  was  the  matter,  he  said  that 
the  ghosts  of  two  warriors  were  always  among  those  trees, 
and  that  if  we  slept  there  they  would  scream  and  throw 
stones  at  us  all  night,  and  perhaps  steal  our  horses  before 
morning.  Thinking  it  as  well  to  humor  him,  we  left  behind 
us  the  haunt  of  these  extraordinary  ghosts,  and  passed  on 
toward  Chugwater,  riding  at  full  gallop,  for  the  big  drops 
began  to  patter  down.  Soon  we  came  in  sight  of  the  poplar 
saplings  that  grew  about  the  mouth  of  the  little  stream.  We 
leaped  to  the  ground,  threw  off  our  saddles,  turned  our  horses 
loose,  and  drawing  our  knives,  began  to  slash  among  the 
bushes  to  cut  twigs  and  branches  for  making  a  shelter  against 
the  rain.  Bending  down  the  taller  saplings  as  they  grew,  we 
piled  the  young  shoots  upon  them,  and  thus  made  a  conven- 
ient penthouse,  but  all  our  labor  was  useless.  The  storm 
scarcely  touched  us.  Half  a  mile  on  our  right  the  rain  was 
pouring  down  like  a  cataract,  and  the  thunder  roared  over  the 
prairie  like  a  battery  of  cannon ;  while  we  by  good  fortune 


302  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

received  only  a  few  heavy  drops  from  the  skirt  of  the  passing 
cloud.  The  weather  cleared  and  the  sun  set  gloriously. 
Sitting  close  under  our  leafy  canopy,  we  proceeded  to  discuss 
a  substantial  meal  of  wasna  which  Weah-Washtay  had  given 
me.  The  Indian  had  brought  with  him  his  pipe  and  a  bag 
of  shongsasha;  so  before  lying  down  to  sleep,  we  sat  for  some 
time  smoking  together.  Previously,  however,  our  wide- 
mouthed  friend  had  taken  the  precaution  of  carefully  examin- 
ing the  neighborhood.  He  reported  that  eight  men,  counting 
them  on  his  fingers,  had  been  encamped  there  not  long  before : 
Bisonette,  Paul  Dorion,  Antoine  Le  Rouge,  Richardson,  and 
four  others  whose  names  he  could  not  tell.  All  this  proved 
strictly  correct.  By  what  instinct  he  had  arrived  at  such 
accurate  conclusions,  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  divine. 

It  was  still  quite  dark  when  I  awoke  and  called  Raymond. 
The  Indian  was  already  gone,  having  chosen  to  go  on  before 
us  to  the  Fort.  Setting  out  after  him,  we  rode  for  some  time 
in  complete  darkness,  and  when  the  sun  at  length  rose,  glow- 
ing like  a  fiery  ball  of  copper,  we  were  ten  miles  distant  from  ! 
the  Fort.  At  length,  from  the  broken  summit  of  a  tall  sandy 
bluff  we  could  see  Fort  Laramie,  miles  before  us,  standing  by  1 
the  side  of  the  stream  like  a  little  gray  speck  in  the  midst  of 
the  boundless  desolation.  I  stopped  my  horse,  and  sat  for  a 
moment  looking  down  upon  it.  It  seemed  to  me  the  very 
center  of  comfort  and  civilization.  We  were  not  long  in 
approaching  it,  for  we  rode  at  speed  the  greater  part  of  the 
way.  Laramie  Creek  still  intervened  between  us  and  the 
friendly  walls.  Entering  the  water  at  the  point  where  we 
had  struck  upon  the  bank,  we  raised  our  feet  to  the  saddle 
behind  us,  and  thus,  kneeling  as  it  were  on  horseback,  passed 
dry-shod  through  the  swift  current.  As  we  rode  up  the 
bank,  a  number  of  men  appeared  in  the  gateway.  Three  of 
them  came  forward  to  meet  us.  In  a  moment  I  distinguished 
Shaw ;  Henry  Chatillon  followed  with  his  face  of  manly  sim- 
plicity and  frankness,  and  Deslauriers  came  last,  with  a  broad 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  303 

grin  of  welcome.  The  meeting  was  not  on  either  side  one  of 
mere  ceremony.  For  my  own  part,  the  change  was  a  most 
agreeable  one  from  the  society  of  savages  and  men  little  bet- 
ter than  savages,  to  that  of  my  gallant  and  high-minded  com- 
panion and  our  noble-hearted  guide.  My  appearance  was 
equally  gratifying  to  Shaw,  who  was  beginning  to  entertain 
some  very  uncomfortable  surmises  concerning  me. 

Bordeaux  greeted  me  very  cordially,  and  shouted  to  the 
cook.  This  functionary  was  a  new  acquisition,  having  lately 
come  from  Fort  Pierre  with  the  trading  wagons.  What- 
ever skill  he  might  have  boasted,  he  had  not  the  most  promis- 
ing materials  to  exercise  it  upon.  He  set  before  me,  however, 
a  breakfast  of  biscuit,  coffee,  and  salt  pork.  It  seemed  like  a 
new  phase  of  existence,  to  be  seated  once  more  on  a  bench, 
with  a  knife  and  fork,  a  plate  and  teacup,  and  something 
resembling  a  table  before  me.  The  coffee  seemed  delicious, 
and  the  bread  was  a  most  welcome  novelty,  since  for  three 
weeks  I  had  eaten  scarcely  anything  but  meat,  and  that  for  the 
most  part  without  salt.  The  meal  also  had  the  relish  of  good 
company,  for  opposite  to  me  sat  Shaw  in  elegant  dishabille. 
If  one  is  anxious  thoroughly  to  appreciate  the  value  of  a 
congenial  companion,  he  has  only  to  spend  a  few  weeks  by 
himself  in  an  Ogallala  village.  And  if  he  can  contrive  to  add 
to  his  seclusion  a  debilitating  and  somewhat  critical  illness, 
his  perceptions  upon  this  subject  will  be  rendered  considerably 
more  vivid. 

Shaw  had  been  upward  of  two  weeks  at  the  Fort.  I 
found  him  established  in  his  old  quarters,  a  large  apartment 
usually  occupied  by  the  absent  bourgeois.  In  one  corner  was 
a  soft  and  luxurious  pile  of  excellent  buffalo  robes,  and  here 
I  lay  down.  Shaw  brought  me  three  books. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "is  your  Shakspere  and  Byron,  and 
here  is  the  Old  Testament,  which  has  as  much  poetry  in  it 
as  the  other  two  put  together." 

I  chose  the  worst  of  the  three,  and  for  the  greater  paK 


304  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

of  that  day  I  lay  on  the  buffalo  robes,  fairly  reveling  in  the 
creations  of  that  resplendent  genius  which  has  achieved  no 
more  signal  triumph  than  that  of  half  beguiling  us  to  forget 
the  pitiful  and  unmanly  character  of  its  possessor.1 

!The  allusion  is  to  Byron, 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    LONELY    JOURNEY 


On  the  day  of  my  arrival  at  Fort  Laramie,  Shaw  and  I 
were  lounging  on  two  buffalo  robes  in  the  large  apartment 
hospitably  assigned  to  us;  Henry  Chatillon  also  was  present, 
busy  about  the  harness  and  weapons  which  had  been  brought 
into  the  room,  and  two  or  three  Indians  were  crouching  on 
the  floor,  eyeing  us  with  their  fixed,  unwavering  gaze. 

"I  have  been  well  off  here,"  said  Shaw,  "in  all  respects 
but  one ;  there  is  no  good  shongsasha  to  be  had  for  love  or 
money." 

I  gave  him  a  small  leather  bag  containing  some  of  excel- 
lent quality,  which  I  had  brought  from  the  Black  Hills. 
"Now,  Henry,"  said  he,  "hand  me  Papin's  chopping-board, 
or  give  it  to  that  Indian,  and  let  him  cut  the  mixture ;  they 
understand  it  better  than  any  white  man." 

The  Indian,  without  saying  a  word,  mixed  the  bark  and 
the  tobacco  in  due  proportions,  filled  the  pipe  and  lighted  it. 
This  done,  my  companion  and  I  proceeded  to  deliberate 
on  our  future  course  of  proceeding;  first,  however,  Shaw 
acquainted  me  with  some  incidents  which  had  occurred  at  the 
fort  during  my  absence. 

About  a  week  previous  four  men  had  arrived  from 
beyond  the  mountains :  Sublette,1  Reddick,  and  two  others. 
Just  before  reaching  the  fort  they  had  met  a  large  party 
of  Indians,  chiefly  young  men.  All  of  them  belonged  to 
the  village  of  our  old  friend  Smoke,  who,  with  his  whole 
band  of  adherents,  professed  the  greatest  friendship  for  the 
whites.  The  travelers  therefore  approached,  and  began  to 

1William  Sublette,  a  member  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  Fur  Company,  the 
rival  of  the  American  Fur  Company. 

305 


306  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

converse  without  the  least  suspicion.  Suddenly,  however, 
their  bridles  were  violently  seized,  and  they  were  ordered  to 
dismount.  Instead  of  complying,  they  struck  their  horses 
with  full  force  and  broke  away  from  the  Indians.  As  they 
galloped  off  they  heard  a  yell  behind  them,  mixed  with  a 
burst  of  derisive  laughter,  and  the  reports  of  several  guns. 
None  of  them  were  hurt,  though  Reddick's  bridle  rein  was 
cut  by  a  bullet  within  an  inch  of  his  hand.  After  this  taste 
of  Indian  hostility  they  felt  for  the  moment  no  disposition 
to  encounter  farther  risks.  They  intended  to  pursue  the 
route  southward  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains  to  Bent's 
Fort;  and  as  our  plans  coincided  with  theirs,  they  proposed 
to  join  forces.  Finding,  however,  that  I  did  not  return, 
they  grew  impatient  of  inaction,  forgot  their  late  escape, 
and  set  out  without  us,  promising  to  wait  our  arrival  at 
Bent's  Fort.  From  thence  we  were  to  make  the  long  journey 
to  the  settlements  in  company,  as  the  path  was  not  a  little 
dangerous,  being  infested  by  hostile  Pawnees  and  Comanches. 
We  expected,  on  reaching  Bent's  Fort,  to  find  there  still 
another  re-enforcement.  A  young  Kentuckian  of  the  true 
Kentucky  blood,  generous,  impetuous,  and  a  gentleman 
withal,  had  come  out  to  the  mountains  with  Russel's  party 
of  California  emigrants.  One  of  his  chief  objects,  as  he 
gave  out,  was  to  kill  an  Indian;  an  exploit  which  he  after- 
wards succeeded  in  achieving,  much  to  the  jeopardy  of  our- 
selves and  others  who  had  to  pass  through  the  country  of 
the  dead  Pawnee's  enraged  relatives.  Having  become  dis- 
gusted with  his  emigrant  associates  he  left  them,  and  had 
some  time  before  set  out  with  a  party  of  companions  for  the 
head  of  the  Arkansas.  He  sent  us  previously  a  letter,  inti- 
mating that  he  would  wait  until  we  arrived  at  Bent's  Fort, 
and  accompany  us  thence  to  the  settlements.  When,  how- 
ever, he  came  to  the  fort,  he  found  there  a  party  of  forty 
men  about  to  make  the  homeward  journey.  He  wisely  pre- 
ferred to  avail  himself  of  so  strong  an  escort.  Mr.  Sublette 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  307 

and  his  companions  also  set  out,  in  order  to  overtake  this 
company;  so  that  on  reaching  Bent's  Fort,  some  six  weeks 
after,  we  found  ourselves  deserted  by  our  allies  and  thrown 
once  more  upon  our  own  resources. 

But  I  am  anticipating.  When,  before  leaving  the  settle- 
ment, we  had  made  inquiries  concerning  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try of  General  Kearny,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  Captain  Wyeth,1  and 
others  well  acquainted  with  it,  they  had  all  advised  us  by 
no  means  to  attempt  this  southward  journey  with  fewer  than 
fifteen  or  twenty  men.  The  danger  consists  in  the  chance 
of  encountering  Indian  war  parties.  Sometimes  throughout 
the  whole  length  of  the  journey  (a  distance  of  350  miles) 
one  does  not  meet  a  single  human  being;  frequently,  however, 
the  route  is  beset  by  Arapahoes  and  other  unfriendly  tribes; 
in  which  case  the  scalp  of  the  adventurer  is  in  imminent  peril. 
As  to  the  escort  of  fifteen  or  twenty  men,  such  a  force  of 
whites  could  at  that  time  scarcely  be  collected  by  the  whole 
country;  and  had  the  case  been  otherwise,  the  expense  of 
securing  them,  together  with  the  necessary  number  of  horses, 
would  have  been  extremely  heavy.  We  had  resolved,  how- 
ever, upon  pursuing  this  southward  course.  There  were, 
indeed,  two  other  routes  from  Fort  Laramie;  but  both  of 
these  were  less  interesting,  and  neither  was  free  from  danger. 
Being  unable  therefore  to  procure  the  fifteen  or  twenty  men 
recommended,  we  determined  to  set  out  with  those  we  had 
already  in  our  employ:  Henry  Chatillon,  Deslauriers,  and 
Raymond.  The  men  themselves  made  no  objection,  nor 
would  they  have  made  any  had  the  journey  been  more  danger- 
ous ;  for  Henry  was  without  fear,  and  the  other  two  without 
thought. 

Shaw  and  I  were  much  better  fitted  for  this  mode  of 
traveling  than  we  had  been  on  betaking  ourselves  to  the 
prairies  for  the  first  time  a  few  months  before.  The  daily 

'Probably  Nathaniel  J.  Wyeth  of  Boston,  who  had  invested  considerable 
capital  in  the  salmon  industry  on  the  Columbia  River,  and  in  1832  had  made  a 
thrilling  journey  with  Sublette  up  the  Platte  valley.  See  Inman's  Great  Salt 
Lake  Trail.  49-51. 


.308  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

routine  had  ceased  to  be  a  novelty.  All  the  details  of  the 
journey  and  the  camp  had  become  familiar  to  us.  We  had 
seen  life  under  a  new  aspect;  the  human  biped  had  been 
reduced  to  his  primitive  condition.  We  had  lived  without 
law  to  protect,  a  roof  to  shelter,  or  garment  of  cloth  to  cover 
us.  One  of  us  at  least  had  been  without  bread,  and  without 
salt  to  season  his  food.  Our  idea  of  what  is  indispensable  to 
human  existence  and  enjoyment  had  been  wonderfully  cur- 
tailed, and  a  horse,  a  rifle,  and  a  knife  seemed  to  make  up 
the  whole  of  life's  necessaries.  For  these  once  obtained, 
together  with  the  skill  to  use  them,  all  else  that  is  essential 
would  follow  in  their  train,  and  a  host  of  luxuries  besides. 
One  other  lesson  our  short  prairie  experience  had  taught  us : 
that  of  profound  contentment  in  the  present,  and  utter  con- 
tempt for  what  the  future  might  bring  forth. 

These  principles  established,  we  prepared  to  leave  Fort 
Laramie.  On  the  fourth  day  of  August,  early  in  the  after- 
noon, we  bade  a  final  adieu  to  its  hospitable  gateway.  Again 
Shaw  and  I  were  riding  side  by  side  on  the  prairie.  For  the 
first  fifty  miles  we  had  companions  with  us:  Troche,  a  little 
trapper,  and  Rouville,  a  nondescript  in  the  employ  of  the 
Fur  Company,  who  were  going  to  join  the  trader  Bisonette 
at  his  encampment  near  the  head  of  Horse  Creek.1  We  rode 
only  six  or  eight  miles  that  afternoon  before  we  came  to  a 
little  brook  traversing  the  barren  prairie.  All  along  its 
course  grew  copses  of  young  wild-cherry  trees,  loaded  with 
ripe  fruit,  and  almost  concealing  the  gliding  thread  of  water 
with  their  dense  growth;  while  on  each  side  rose  swells  of 
rich  green  grass.  Here  we  encamped;  and  being  much  too 
indolent  to  pitch  our  tent,  we  flung  our  saddles  on  the 
ground,  spread  a  pair  of  buffalo  robes,  lay  down  upon  them, 
and  began  to  smoke.  Meanwhile,  Deslauriers  busied  himself 
with  his  hissing  frying  pan,  and  Raymond  stood  guard  over 
the  band  of  grazing  horses.  Deslauriers  had  an  active  assist- 
ant in  Rouville,  who  professed  great  skill  in  the  culinary  art, 

1Horse  Creek,  Wyoming. 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  309 

and  seizing  upon  a  fork,  began  to  lend  his  zealous  aid  in 
making  ready  supper.  Indeed,  according  to  his  own  belief, 
Rouville  was  a  man  of  universal  knowledge,  and  he  lost  no 
opportunity  to  display  his  manifold  accomplishments.  He 
had  been  a  circus-rider  at  St.  Louis,  and  once  he  rode  round 
Fort  Laramie  on  his  head,  to  the  utter  bewilderment  of  all 
the  Indians.  He  was  also  noted  as  the  wit  of  the  fort;  and 
as  he  had  considerable  humor  and  abundant  vivacity,  he 
contributed  more  that  night  to  the  liveliness  of  the  camp 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  party  put  together.  At  one  instant 
he  would  be  kneeling  by  Deslauriers,  instructing  him  in  the 
true  method  of  frying  antelope  steaks;  then  he  would  come 
and  seat  himself  at  our  side,  dilating  upon  the  orthodox 
fashion  of  braiding  up  a  horse's  tail,  telling  apocryphal  stories 
of  how  he  had  killed  a  buffalo  bull  with  a  knife,  having 
first  cut  off  his  tail  when  at  full  speed,  or  relating  whimsi- 
cal anecdotes  of  the  bourgeois  Papin.  At  last  he  snatched 
up  a  volume  of  Shakspere  that  was  lying  in  the  grass,  and 
halted  and  stumbled  through  a  line  or  two  to  prove  that 
he  could  read.  He  went  gamboling  about  the  camp  chat- 
tering like  some  frolicsome  ape ;  and  whatever  he  was 
doing  at  one  moment,  the  presumption  w^as  a  sure  one  that 
he  would  not  be  doing  it  the  next.  His  companion  Troche 
sat  silently  on  the  grass,  not  speaking  a  word,  but  keeping 
a  vigilant  eye  on  a  very  ugly  little  Utah  squaw,  of  whom 
he  was  extremely  jealous. 

On  the  next  day  we  traveled  farther,  crossing  the  wide 
sterile  basin  called  Goche's  Hole.  Toward  night  we  became 
involved  among  deep  ravines ;  and  being  also  unable  to  find 
water,  our  journey  was  protracted  to  a  very  late  hour.  On 
the  next  morning  we  had  to  pass  a  long  line  of  bluffs, 
whose  raw  sides,  wrought  upon  by  rains  and  storms,  were 
of  a  ghastly  whiteness  most  oppressive  to  the  sight.  As  we 
ascended  a  gap  in  these  hills,  the  way  was  marked  by  huge 
foot-prints  like  those  of  a  human  giant.  They  were  the 


310  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

track  of  the  grizzly  bear;  and  on  the  previous  day  also  we 
had  seen  abundance  of  them  along  the  dry  channels  of  the 
streams  we  had  passed.  Immediately  after  this  we  were 
crossing  a  barren  plain,  spreading  in  long  and  gentle  undu- 
lations to  the  horizon.  Though  the  sun  was  bright,  there 
was  a  light  haze  in  the  atmosphere.  The  distant  hills 
assumed  strange,  distorted  forms,  and  the  edge  of  the  horizon 
was  continually  changing  its  aspect.  Shaw  and  I  were  rid- 
ing together,  and  Henry  Chatillon  was  alone,  a  few  rods 
before  us;  he  stopped  his  horse  suddenly,  and  turning  round 
with  the  peculiar  eager  and  earnest  expression  which  he 
always  wore  when  excited,  he  called  us  to  come  forward. 
We  galloped  to  his  side.  Henry  pointed  toward  a  black 
speck  on  the  gray  swell  of  the  prairie,  apparently  about  a 
mile  off.  "It  must  be  a  bear,"  said  he;  "come,  now,  we 
shall  all  have  some  sport.  Better  fun  to  fight  him  than  to 
fight  an  old  buffalo  bull;  grizzly  bear  so  strong  and  smart." 

So  we  all  galloped  forward  together,  prepared  for  a  hard 
fight;  for  these  bears,  though  clumsy  in  appearance  and 
extremely  large,  are  incredibly  fierce  and  active.  The  swell 
of  the  prairie  concealed  the  black  object  from  our  view. 
Immediately  after  it  appeared  again.  But  now  it  seemed 
quite  near  to  us;  and  as  we  looked  at  it  in  astonishment,  it 
suddenly  separated  into  two  parts,  each  of  which  took  wing 
and  flew  away.  We  stopped  our  horses  and  looked  round 
at  Henry,  whose  face  exhibited  a  curious  mixture  of  mirth 
and  mortification.  His  hawk's  eye  had  been  so  completely 
deceived  by  the  peculiar  atmosphere  that  he  had  mistaken 
two  large  crows  at  the  distance  of  fifty  rods  for  a  grizzly 
bear  a  mile  off.  To  the  journey's  end  Henry  never  heard 
the  last  of  the  grizzly  bear  with  wings. 

In  the  afternoon  we  came  to  the  foot  of  a  considerable 
hill.  As  we  ascended  it  Rouville  began  to  ask  questions 
concerning  our  condition  and  prospects  at  home,  and  Shaw 
was  edifying  him  with  a  minute  account  of  an  imaginary 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  311 

wife  and  child,  to  which  he  listened  with  implicit  faith. 
Reaching  the  top  of  the  hill  we  saw  the  windings  of  Horse 
Creek  on  the  plains  below  us,  and  a  little  on  the  left  we 
could  distinguish  the  camp  of  Bisonette  among  the  trees 
and  copses  along  the  course  of  the  stream.  Rouville's  face 
assumed  just  then  a  most  ludicrously  blank  expression.  We 
inquired  what  was  the  matter;  when  it  appeared  that  Bison- 
ette had  sent  him  from  this  place  to  Fort  Laramie  with  the 
sole  object  of  bringing  back  a  supply  of  tobacco.  Our  rat- 
tlebrain friend,  from  the  time  of  his  reaching  the  fort  up  to 
the  present  moment,  had  entirely  forgotten  the  object  of  his 
journey,  and  had  ridden  a  dangerous  hundred  miles  for  noth- 
ing. Descending  to  Horse  Creek  we  forded  it,  and  on  the 
opposite  bank  a  solitary  Indian  sat  on  horseback  under  a 
tree.  He  said  nothing,  but  turned  and  led  the  way  toward 
the  camp.  Bisonette  had  made  choice  of  an  admirable  posi- 
tion. The  stream,  with  its  thick  growth  of  trees,  inclosed 
on  three  sides  a  wide  green  meadow,  where  about  forty 
Dakota  lodges  were  pitched  in  a  circle,  and  beyond  them 
half  a  dozen  lodges  of  the  friendly  Cheyenne.  Bisonette 
himself  lived  in  the  Indian  manner.  Riding  up  to  his  lodge, 
we  found  him  seated  at  the  head  of  it,  surrounded  by  vari- 
ous appliances  of  comfort  not  common  on  the  prairie.  His 
squaw  was  near  him,  and  rosy  children  were  scrambling 
about  in  printed-calico  gowns ;  Paul  Dorion  also,  with  his 
leathery  face  and  old  white  capote,  was  seated  in  the  lodge, 
together  with  Antoine  Le  Rouge,  a  half-breed  Pawnee, 
Sibille,  a  trader,  and  several  other  white  men. 

"It  will  do  you  no  harm,"  said  Bisonette,  "to  stay  here 
with  us  for  a  day  or  two,  before  you  start  for  the  Pueblo."1 

We  accepted  the  invitation,  and  pitched  our  tent  on  a 
rising  ground  above  the  camp  and  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
trees.  Bisonette  soon  invited  us  to  a  feast,  and  we  suffered 

1A  small  trading  post,  built  about  1840,  at  the  site  of  the  present  Pueblo, 
Colorado,  and  known  as  "the  Pueblo."  See  p.  327,  post. 


312  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

abundance  of  the  same  sort  of  attention  from  his  Indian 
associates.  The  reader  may  possibly  recollect  that  when  I 
joined  the  Indian  village,  beyond  the  Black  Hills,  I  found 
that  a  few  families  were  absent,  having  declined  to  pass  the 
mountains  along  with  the  rest.  The  Indians  in  Bisonette's 
camp  consisted  of  these  very  families,  and  many  of  them  came 
to  me  that  evening  to  inquire  after  their  relatives  and  friends. 
They  were  not  a  little  mortified  to  learn  that  while  they, 
from  their  own  timidity  and  indolence,  were  almost  in  a 
starving  condition,  the  rest  of  the  village  had  provided  their 
lodges  for  the  next  season,  laid  in  a  great  stock  of  provisions, 
and  were  living  in  abundance  and  luxury.  .  Bisonette's  com- 
panions had  been  sustaining  themselves  for  some  time  on 
wild  cherries,  which  the  squaws  pounded  up,  stones  and  all, 
and  spread  on  buffalo  robes  to  dry  in  the  sun;  they  were 
then  eaten  without  further  preparation,  or  used  as  an  ingre- 
dient in  various  delectable  compounds. 

On  the  next  day  the  camp  was  in  connection  with  a  new 
arrival.  A  single  Indian  had  come  with  his  family  the  whole 
way  from  the  Arkansas.  As  he  passed  among  the  lodges  he 
put  on  an  expression  of  unusual  dignity  and  importance,  and 
^ave  out  that  he  had  brought  great  news  to  tell  the  whites. 
Soon  after  the  squaws  had  erected  his  lodge,  he  sent  his  little 
son  to  invite  all  the  white  men,  and  all  the  more  distinguished 
Indians,  to  a  feast.  The  guests  arrived  and  sat  wedged 
together,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  within  the  hot  and  suffocat- 
ing lodge.  The  Stabber,  for  that  was  our  entertainer's  name, 
had  killed  an  old  buffalo  bull  on  his  way.  This  veteran's 
boiled  tripe,  tougher  than  leather,  formed  the  main  item  of  the 
repast.  For  the  rest,  it  consisted  of  wild  cherries  and  grease 
boiled  together  in  a  large  copper  kettle.  The  feast  was  dis- 
tributed, and  for  a  moment  all  was  silent,  strenuous  exertion ; 
then  each  guest,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  however,  turned 
his  wooden  dish  bottom  upward  to  prove  that  he  had  done 
full  justice  to  his  entertainer's  hospitality.  The  Stabber  next 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  313 

produced  his  chopping  board,  on  which  he  prepared  the  mix- 
ture for  smoking,  and  filled  several  pipes,  which  circulated 
among  the  company.  This  done,  he  seated  himself  upright 
on  his  couch,  and  began  with  much  gesticulation  to  tell  his 
story.  I  will  not  repeat  his  childish  jargon.  It  was  so 
entangled,  like  the  greater  part  of  an  Indian's  stories,  with 
absurd  and  contradictory  details,  that  it  was  almost  impos- 
sible to  disengage  from  it  a  single  particle  of  truth.  All  that 
we  could  gather  was  the  following: 

He  had  been  on  the  Arkansas,  and  there  he  had  seen  six 
great  war  parties  of  whites.  He  had  never  believed  before 
that  the  whole  world  contained  half  so  many  white  men. 
They  all  had  large  horses,  long  knives,  and  short  rifles,  and 
some  of  them  were  attired  alike  in  the  most  splendid  war 
dresses  he  had  ever  seen.  From  this  account  it  was  clear 
that  bodies  of  dragoons,  and  perhaps  also  of  volunteer  cav- 
alry, had  been  passing  up  the  Arkansas.  The  Stabber  had 
also  seen  a  great  many  of  the  white  lodges  of  the  Meneaska, 
drawn  by  their  long-horned  buffalo.  These  could  be  nothing 
else  than  covered  ox-wragons,  used  no  doubt  in  transporting 
stores  for  the  troops.  Soon  after  seeing  this,  our  host  had 
met  an  Indian  who  had  lately  come  from  among  the  Coman- 
ches.  The  latter  had  told  him  that  all  the  Mexicans  had 
gone  out  to  a  great  buffalo  hunt,  and  that  the  Americans  had 
hid  themselves  in  a  ravine.  When  the  Mexicans  had  shot 
away  all  their  arrows,  the  Americans  had  fired  their  guns, 
raised  their  war-whoop,  rushed  out,  and  killed  them  all.  We 
could  only  infer  from  this  that  war  had  been  declared  with 
Mexico,  and  a  battle  fought  in  which  the  Americans  were 
victorious.  When,  some  weeks  after,  we  "arrived  at  the 
Pueblo,  we  heard  of  General  Kearny's  march  up  the  Arkan- 
sas and  of  General  Taylor's  victories  at  Matamoras.1 

1In  July,  1846,  Kearny  concentrated  a  force  of  1800  men  at  Bent's  Fort, 
and  from  there  advanced  to  Santa  F6,  New  Mexico,  which  was  occupied  August 
18.  See  p.  378,  post.  May  8  and  9,  in  the  battles  of  Palo  Alto  and  Resaca  de 
la  Palma,  Taylor  drove  the  Mexicans  across  the  Rio  Grande,  and  then  advanced 
from  Matamoras  to  Monterey. 


314  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

As  the  sun  was  setting  that  evening  a  great  crowd  gath- 
ered on  the  plain  by  the  side  of  our  tent,  to  try  the  speed  of 
their  horses.  These  were  of  every  shape,  size,  and  color. 
Some  came  from  California,  some  from  the  States,  some  from 
among  the  mountains,  and  some  from  the  wild  bands  of  the 
prairie.  They  were  of  every  hue — white,  black,  red,  and  gray, 
or  mottled  and  clouded  with  a  strange  variety  of  colors.  They 
all  had  a  wild  and  startled  look,  very  different  from  the  staid 
and  sober  aspect  of  a  well-bred  city  steed.  Those  most  noted 
for  swiftness  and  spirit  were  decorated  with  eagle- feathers 
dangling  from  their  manes  and  tails.  Fifty  or  sixty  Dakota 
were  present,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  their  heavy  robes 
of  whitened  hide.  There  were  also  a  considerable  number  of 
the  Cheyenne,  many  of  whom  wore  gaudy  Mexican  ponchos 
swathed  around  their  shoulders,  but  leaving  the  right  arm 
bare.  Mingled  among  the  crowd  of  Indians  were  a  number 
of  Canadians,  chiefly  in  the  employ  of  Bisonette;  men  whose 
home  is  the  wilderness,  and  who  love  the  camp  fire  better 
than  the  domestic  hearth.  They  are  contented  and  happy 
in  the  midst  of  hardship,  privation,  and  danger.  Their  cheer- 
fulness and  gayety  is  irrepressible,  and  no  people  on  earth 
understand  better  how  "to  daff  the  world  aside  and  bid  it 
pass."1  Besides  these  were  two  or  three  half-breeds,  a  race 
of  rather  extraordinary  composition,  being  according  to  the 
common  saying  half  Indian,  half  white  man,  and  half  devil. 
Antoine  Le  Rouge  was  the  most  conspicuous  among  them, 
with  his  loose  pantaloons  and  his  fluttering  calico  shirt.  A 
handkerchief  was  bound  round  his  head  to  confine  his  black 
snaky  hair,  and  his  small  eyes  twinkled  beneath  it  with  a 
mischievous  luster.  He  had  a  fine  cream-colored  horse  whose 
speed  he  must  needs  try  along  with  the  rest.  So  he  threw  off 

l" Where  is  his  son, 

The  nimble-footed  madcap  Prince  of  Wales, 
And  his  comrades,  that  daff  the  world  aside, 

And  bid  it  pass?" 
— Shakspere,  King  Henry  I V,  part  I,  act  IV,  scene  I. 


tilt 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  315 

ie  rude  high-peaked  saddle,  and  substituting  a  piece  of  buf- 
falo robe,  leaped  lightly  into  his  seat.  The  space  was  cleared, 
the  word  was  given,  and  he  and  his  Indian  rival  darted  out 
like  lightning  from  among  the  crowd,  each  stretching  forward 
over  his  horse's  neck  and  plying  his  heavy  Indian  whip  with 
might  and  main.  A  moment,  and  both  were  lost  in  the 
gloom;  but  Antoine  soon  came  riding  back  victorious,  exult- 
ingly  patting  the  neck  of  his  quivering  and  panting  horse. 

About  midnight,  as  I  lay  asleep  wrapped  in  a  buffalo  robe 
on  the  ground  by  the  side  of  our  cart,  Raymond  came  up  and 
woke  me.  Something,  he  said,  was  going  forward  which  I 
would  like  to  see.  Looking  down  into  the  camp  I  saw,  on  the 
farther  side  of  it,  a  great  number  of  Indians  gathered  around 
a  fire,  the  bright  glare  of  which  made  them  visible  through 
the.  thick  darkness;  while  from  the  midst  of  them  proceeded 
a  loud,  measured  chant  which  would  have  killed  Paganini1 
outright,  broken  occasionally  by  a  burst  of  sharp  yells.  I 
gathered  the  robe  around  me,  for  the  night  was  cold,  and 
walked  down  to  the  spot.  The  dark  throng  of  Indians  was  so 
dense  that  they  almost  intercepted  the  light  of  the  flame.  As 
I  was  pushing  among  them  with  but  little  ceremony,  a  chief 
interposed  himself,  and  I  was  given  to  understand  that  a  white 
man  must  not  approach  the  scene  of  their  solemnities  too 
closely.  By  passing  round  to  the  other  side,  where  there  was 
a  little  opening  in  the  crowd,  I  could  see  clearly  what  was 
going  forward,  without  intruding  my  unhallowed  presence 
into  the  inner  circle.  The  society  of  the  "Strong  Hearts' 
were  engaged  in  one  of  their  dances.  The  Strong  Hearts  are 
a  warlike  association,  comprising  men  of  both  the  Dakota 
and  Cheyenne  nations,  and  entirely  composed,  or  supposed  to 
be  so,  of  young  braves  of  the  highest  mettle.  Its  fundamental 
principle  is  the  admirable  one  of  never  retreating  from  any 
enterprise  once  commenced.  All  these  Indian  associations  have 
a  tutelary  spirit.  That  of  the  Strong  Hearts  is  embodied 

1Niccolo  Paganini,  a  famous  violinist,  b.  1784,  d.  1840. 


316  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

in  the  fox,  an  animal  which  a  white  man  would  hardly  have 
selected  for  a  similar  purpose,  though  his  subtle  and  cautious 
character  agrees  well  enough  with  an  Indian's  notions  of 
what  is  honorable  in  warfare.  The  dancers  were  circling 
round  and  round  the  fire,  each  figure  brightly  illumined  at 
one  moment  by  the  yellow  light,  and  at  the  next  drawn  in 
blackest  shadow  as  it  passed  between  the  flame  and  the 
spectator.  They  would  imitate  with  the  most  ludicrous 
exactness  the  motions  and  the  voice  of  their  sly  patron  the 
fox.  Then  a  startling  yell  would  be  given.  Many  other 
warriors  would  leap  into  the  ring,  and  with  faces  upturned 
toward  the  .starless  sky,  they  would  all  stamp,  and  whoop, 
and  brandish  their  weapons  like  so  many  frantic  devils. 

Until  the  next  afternoon  we  were  still  remaining  with 
Bisonette.  My  companion  and  I  with  our  three  attendants 
then  left  his  camp  for  the  Pueblo,  a  distance  of  three  hun- 
dred miles,  and  we  supposed  the  journey  would  occupy 
about  a  fortnight.  During  this  time  we  all  earnestly  hoped 
that  we  might  not  meet  a  single  human  being,  for  should  we 
encounter  any,  they  would  in  all  probability  be  enemies,  fero- 
cious robbers  and  murderers,  in  whose  eyes  our  rifles  would 
be  our  only  passports.  For  the  first  two  days  nothing  worth 
mentioning  took  place.  On  the  third  morning,  however, 
an  untoward  incident  occurred.  We  were  encamped  by  the 
side  of  a  little  brook  in  an  extensive  hollow  of  the  plain. 
Deslauriers  was  up  long  before  daylight,  and  before  he  began 
to  prepare  breakfast  he  turned  loose  all  the  horses,  as  in  duty 
bound.  There  was  a  cold  mist  clinging  close  to  the  ground, 
and  by  the  time  the  rest  of  us  were  awake  the  animals  were 
invisible.  It  was  only  after  a  long  and  anxious  search  that 
we  could  discover  by  their  tracks  the  direction  they  had 
taken.  They  had  all  set  off  for  Fort  Laramie,  following  the 
guidance  of  a  mutinous  old  mule,  and  though  many  of  them 
were  hobbled  they  had  traveled  three  miles  before  they  could 
be  overtaken  and  driven  back. 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  317 

For  the  following  two  or  three  days  we  were  passing 
T  an  arid  desert.  The  only  vegetation  was  a  few  tufts 
of  short  grass,  dried  and  shriveled  by  the  heat.  There  was 
an  abundance  of  strange  insects  and  reptiles.  Huge  crickets, 
black  and  bottle  green,  and  wingless  grasshoppers  of  the 
most  extravagant  dimensions,  were  tumbling  about  our  horses' 
feet,  and  lizards  without  numbers  were  darting  like  lightning 
among  the  tufts  of  grass.  The  most  curious  animal,  how- 
ever, wras  that  commonly  called  the  horned  frog.  I  caught 
one  of  them  and  consigned  him  to  the  care  of  Deslauriers, 
who  tied  him  up  in  a  moccasin.  About  a  month  after  tjiis  I 
examined  the  prisoner's  condition,  and  finding  him  still  lively 
and  active,  I  provided  him  with  a  cage  of  bufralo  hide,  which 
was  hung  up  in  the  cart.  In  this  manner  he  arrived  safely 
at  the  settlements.  From  thence  he  traveled  the  whole  way 
to  Boston  packed  closely  in  a  trunk,  being  regaled  with  fresh 
air  regularly  every  night.  When  he  reached  his  destination 
he  was  deposited  under  a  glass  case,  where  he  sat  for  some 
months  in  great  tranquillity  and  composure,  alternately  dilat- 
ing and  contracting  his  white  throat  to  the  admiration  of 
his  visitors.  At  length,  one  morning,  about  the  middle  of 
winter,  he  gave  up  the  ghost.  His  death  was  attributed  to 
starvation,  a  very  probable  conclusion,  since  for  six  months 
he  had  taken  no  food  whatever,  though  the  sympathy  of  his 
juvenile  admirers  had  tempted  his  palate  with  a  great  variety 
of  delicacies.  We  found  also  animals  of  a  somewhat  larger 
growth.  The  number  of  prairie  dogs  was  absolutely  astound- 
ing. Frequently  the  hard  and  dry  prairie  would  be  thickly 
covered,  for  many  miles  together,  with  the  little  mounds 
which  they  make  around  the  mouth  of  their  burrows,  and 
small  squeaking  voices  yelping  at  us  as  we  passed  along.  The 
noses  of  the  inhabitants  would  be  just  visible  at  the  mouth  of 
their  holes,  but  no  sooner  was  their  curiosity  satisfied  than 
they  would  instantly  vanish.  Some  of  the  bolder  dogs — 
though  in  fact  they  are  no  dogs  at  all,  but  little  marmots 


318  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 


rather  smaller  than  a  rabbit — would  sit  yelping  at  us  on  the 
top  of  their  mounds,  jerking  their  tails  emphatically  with 
every  shrill  cry  they  uttered.  As  the  danger  drew  nearer 
they  would  wheel  about,  toss  their  heels  into  the  air,  and  dive 
in  a  twinkling  down  into  their  burrows.  Toward  sunset, 
and  especially  if  rain  were  threatening,  the  whole  community 
would  make  their  appearance  above  ground.  We  would  see 
them  gathered  in  large  knots  around  the  burrow  of  some 
favorite  citizen.  There  they  would  all  sit  erect,  their  tails 
spread  out  on  the  ground,  and  their  paws  hanging  down 
before  their  white  breasts,  chattering  and  squeaking  with  the 
utmost  vivacity  upon  some  topic  of  common  interest,  while 
the  proprietor  of  the  .burrow,  with  his  head  just  visible-  on 
the  top  of  his  mound,  would  sit  looking  down  with  a  com- 
placent countenance  on  the  enjoyment  of  his  guests.  Mean- 
while, others  would  be  running  about  from  burrow  to  burrow, 
as  if  on  some  errand  of  the  last  importance  to  their  subter- 
ranean commonwealth.  The  snakes  are  apparently  the  prairie 
dogs'  worst  enemies ;  at  least  I  think  too  well  of  the  latter  to 
suppose  that  they  associate  on  friendly  terms  with  these  slimy 
intruders,  who  may  be  seen  at  all  times  basking  among  their 
holes,  into  which  they  always  retreat  when  disturbed.  Small 
owls,  with  wise  and  grave  countenances,  also  make  their 
abode  with  the  prairie  dogs,  though  on  what  terms  they  live 
together  I  could  never  ascertain.  The  manners  and  customs, 
the  political  and  domestic  economy  of  these  little  marmots,  are 
worthy  of  closer  attention  than  one  is  able  to  give  when  push- 
ing by  forced  marches  through  their  country,  with  his 
thoughts  engrossed  by  objects  of  greater  moment. 

On  the  fifth  day  after  leaving  Bisonette's  camp  we  saw, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  what  we  supposed  to  be  a  considerable 
stream,  but  on  our  approaching  it  we  found  to  our  mortifica- 
tion nothing  but  a  dry  bed  of  sand  into  which  all  the  water 
had  sunk  and  disappeared.  We  separated,  some  riding  in  one 
direction  and  some  in  another  along  its  course.  Still  we  found 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  319 

no  traces  of  water,  not  even  so  much  as  a  wet  spot  in  the  sand. 
The  old  cottonwood  trees  that  grew  along  the  bank,  lament- 
ably abused  by  lightning  and  tempest,  were  withering  with  the 
drought,  and  on  the  dead  limbs,  at  the  summit  of  the  tallest, 
half  a  dozen  crows  were  hoarsely  cawing  like  birds  of  evil 
omen  as  they  were.  We  had  no  alternative  but  to  keep  on. 
There  was  no  water  nearer  than  the  South  Fork  of  the  Platte, 
about  ten  miles  distant.  We  moved  forward,  angry  and 
silent,  over  a  desert  as  flat  as  the  outspread  ocean. 

The  sky  had  been  obscured  since  the  morning  by  thin 
mists  and  vapors,  but  now  vast  piles  of  clouds  were  gathered 
together  in  the  west.  They  rose  to  a  great  height  above  the 
horizon,  and  looking  up  toward  them  I  distinguished  one  mass 
darker  than  the  rest  and  of  a  peculiar  conical  form.  I  hap- 
pened to  look  again  and  still  could  see  it  as  before.  At  some 
moments  it  was  dimly  seen,  at  others  its  outline  was  sharp  and 
distinct ;  but  while  the  clouds  around  it  were  shifting,  chang- 
ing, and  dissolving  away,  it  still  towered  aloft  in  the  midst  of 
them,  fixed  and  immovable.  It  must,  thought  I,  be  the  sum- 
mit of  a  mountain,  and  yet  its  height  staggered  me.  My  con- 
clusion was  right,  however.  It  was  Long's  Peak,1  once 
believed  to  be  one  of  the  highest  of  the  Rocky  Mountain 
chain,  though  more  recent  discoveries  have  proved  the  con- 
trary. The  thickening  gloom  soon  hid  it  from  view  and  we 
never  saw  it  again,  for  on  the  following  day  and  for  some 
time  after,  the  air  was  so  full  of  mist  that  the  view  of  distant 
objects  was  entirely  intercepted. 

It  grew  very  late.  Turning  from  our  direct  course  we 
made  for  the  river  at  its  nearest  point,  though  in  the  utter 
darkness  it  was  not  easy  to  direct  our  way  with  much  pre- 
cision. Raymond  rode  on  one  side  and  Henry  on  the  other. 
We  could  hear  each  of  them  shouting  that  he  had  come  upon 
a  deep  ravine.  We  steered  at  random  between  Scylla  and 

1Long's  Peak  attains  a  height  of  14,271  feet.  There  are  numerous  other 
peaks  of  greater  altitude,  the  highest  being  in  the  Cascade  Range. 


320  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Charybdis,1  and  soon  after  became,  as  it  seemed,  inextricably 
involved  with  deep  chasms  all  around  us,  while  the  darkness 
was  such  that  we  could  not  see  a  rod  in  any  direction.  We 
partially  extricated  ourselves  by  scrambling,  cart  and  all, 
through  a  shallow  ravine.  We  came  next  to  a  steep  descent, 
down  which  we  plunged  without  well  knowing  what  was  at 
the  bottom.  There  was  a  great  crackling  of-  sticks  and  dry 
twigs.  Over  our  heads  were  certain  large  shadowy  objects, 
and  in  front  something  like  the  faint  gleaming  of  a  dark 
sheet  of  water.  Raymond  ran  his  horse  against  a  tree; 
Henry  alighted,  and  feeling  on  the  ground  declared  that 
there  was  grass  enough  for  the  horses.  Before  taking  off 
his  saddle  each  man  led  his  own  horses  down  to  the  water 
in  the  best  way  he  could.  Then  picketing  two  or  three  of 
the  evil-disposed,  we  turned  the  rest  loose  and  lay  down 
among  the  dry  sticks  to  sleep.  In  the  morning  we  found 
ourselves  close  to  the  South  Fork  of  the  Platte,  on  a  spot 
surrounded  by  bushes  and  rank  grass.  Compensating  our- 
selves with  a  hearty  breakfast  for  the  ill  fare  of  the  previous 
night,  we  set  forward  again  on  our  journey.  When  only 
two  or  three  rods  from  the  camp  I  saw  Shaw  stop  his  mule, 
level  his  gun,  and  after  a  long  aim  fire  at  some  object  in  the 
grass.  Deslauriers  next  jumped  forward  and  began  to  dance 
about,  belaboring  the  unseen  enemy  with  a  whip.  Then  he 
stooped  down  and  drew  out  of  the  grass  by  the  neck  an 
enormous  rattlesnake,  with  his  head  completely  shattered  by 
Shaw's  bullet.  As  Deslauriers  held  him  out  at  arm's  length 
with  an  exulting  grin,  his  tail,  which  still  kept  slowly  writh- 
ing about,  almost  touched  the  ground,  and  the  body  in  the 
largest  part  was  as  thick  as  a  stout  man's  arm.  He  had 
fourteen  rattles,  but  the  end  of  his  tail  was  blunted  as  if  he 
could  once  have  boasted  of  many  more.  From  this  time 
till  we  reached  the  Pueblo  we  killed  at  least  four  or  five  ofi 

*A  rock  on  which  dwelt  Scylla,  a  monster,  and  a  whirlpool  into  which  Charyb- 
dis had  been  metamorphosed,  imperilling  the  passage  of  the  strait  between  Italy 
and  Sicily. 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  321 

these  snakes  every  day,  as  they  lay  coiled  and  rattling  on  the 
hot  sand.  Shaw  was  the  St.  Patrick  of  the,  party,  and  when- 
ever he  or  any  one  else  killed  a  snake  he  always  pulled  off 
his  tail  and  stored  it  away  in  his  bullet-pouch,  which  was 
soon  crammed  wTith  an  edifying  collection  of  rattles,  great 
and  small.  Deslauriers,  with  his  whip,  also  came  in  for  a 
share  of  the  praise.  A  day  or  two  after  this  he  triumph- 
antly produced  a  small  snake  about  a  span  and  a  half  long, 
with  one  infant  rattle  at  the  end  of  his  tail. 

We  forded  the  South  Fork  of  the  Platte.  On  its  farthei 
bank  were  the  traces  of  a  very  large  camp  of  Arapahoes, 
The  ashes  of  some  three  hundred  fires  were  visible  among 
the  scattered  trees,  together  with  the  remains  of  sweating 
lodges1  and  all  the  other  appurtenances  of  a  permanent  camp, 
The  place  however  had  been  for  some  months  deserted.  A 
few  miles  farther  on  we  found  more  recent  signs  of  Indians; 
the  trail  of  two  or  three  lodges,  which  had  evidently  passed 
the  day  before,  where  every  foot-print  was  perfectly  distinct 
in  the  dry,  dusty  soil.  We  noticed  in  particular  the  track 
of  one  moccasin,  upon  the  sole  of  which  its  economical  pro- 
prietor had  placed  a  large  patch.  These  signs  gave  us  but 
little  uneasiness,  as  the  number  of  the  warriors  scarcely 
exceeded  that  of  our  own  party.  At  noon  we  rested  under 
the  walls  of  a  large  fort,  built  in  these  solitudes  some  years 
since  by  M.  St.  Vrain.  It  was  now  abandoned  and  fast  fall- 
ing into  ruin.  The  walls  of  unbaked  bricks  were  cracked 
from  top  to  bottom.  Our  horses  recoiled  in  terror  from  the 
neglected  entrance,  where  the  heavy  gates  were  torn  from 
their  hinges  and  flung  down.  The  area  within  was  over- 
grown with  weeds,  and  the  long  ranges  of  apartments,  once 
occupied  by  the  motley  concourse  of  traders,  Canadians,  and 
squaws,  were  now  miserably  dilapidated.  Twelve  miles 
farther  on,  near  the  spot  where  we  encamped,  were  the 

*A  small,  closely  covered  structure  in  which  a  sick  person  was  placed,  and  a 
f  re  kindled  to  produce  sweating. 


322  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

remains  of  still  another  fort,  standing  in  melancholy  deser- 
tion and  neglect.  . 

Early  on  the  following  morning  we  made  a  startling 
discovery.  We  passed  close  by  a  large  deserted  encamp- 
ment of  Arapahoes.  There  were  about  fifty  fires  still  smol- 
dering on  the  ground,  and  it  was  evident  from  numerous 
signs  that  the  Indians  must  have  left  the  place  within  two 
hours  of  our  reaching  it.  Their  trail  crossed  our  own  at 
right  angles,  and  led  in  the  direction  of  a  line  of  hills  half 
a  mile  on  our  left.  There  were  women  and  children  in  the 
party,  which  would  have  greatly  diminished  the  danger  of 
encountering  them.  Henry  Chatillon  examined  the  encamp- 
ment and  the  trail  with  a  very  professional  and  businesslike 
air. 

"Supposing  we  had  met  them,  Henry?"  said  I. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "we  hold  out  our  hands  to  them,  and 
give  them  all  w^e've  got;  they  take  away  everything,  and 
then  I  believe  they  no  kill  us.  Perhaps,"  added  he,  looking 
up  with  a  quiet,  unchanged  face,  "perhaps  we  no  let  them  rob 
us.  Maybe  before  they,  come  near,  we  have  a  chance  to  get 
into  a  ravine,  or  under  the  bank  of  the  river;  then,  you 
know,  we  fight  them." 

About  noon  on  that  day  we  reached  Cherry  Creek. 
Here  was  a  great  abundance  of  wild  cherries,  plums,  goose- 
berries, and  currants.  The  stream,  however,  like  most  of 
the  others  which  we  passed,  was  dried  up  with  the  heat, 
and  we  had  to  dig  holes  in  the  sand  to  find  water  for  our- 
selves and  our  horses.  Two  days  after,  we  left  the  banks 
of  the  creek  which  we  had  been  following  for  some  time, 
and  began  to  cross  the  high  dividing  ridge  which  separates 
the  waters  of  the  Platte  from  those  of  the  Arkansas.  The 
scenery  was  altogether  changed.  In  place  of  the  burning 
plains  we  were  passing  now  through  rough  and  savage 
glens,  and  among  hills  crowned  with  a  dreary  growth  of  t 
pines.  We  encamped  among  these  solitudes  on  the  night 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  323 

of  the  sixteenth  of  August.  A  tempest  was  threatening. 
The  sun  went  down  among  volumes  of  jet-black  cloud  edged 
with  a  bloody  red.  But  in  spite  of  these  portentous  signs, 
we  neglected  to  put  up  the  tent/  and  being  extremely  fatigued, 
lay  down  on  the  ground  and  fell  asleep.  The  storm  broke 
about  midnight,  and  we  erected  the  tent  amid  darkness  and 
confusion.  In  the  morning  all  was  fair  again,  and  Pike's 
Peak,  white  with  snow,  was  towering  above  the  wilderness 
afar  off. 

We  pushed  through  an  extensive  tract  of  pine  woods. 
Large  black  squirrels  were  leaping  among  the  branches. 
From  the  farther  edge  of  this  forest  we  saw  the  prairie 
again,  hollowed  out  before  us  into  a  vast  basin,  and  about  a 
mile  in  front  we  could  discern  a  little  black  speck  moving 
upon  its  surface.  It  could  be  nothing  but  a  buffalo.  Henry 
primed  his  rifle  afresh  and  galloped  forward.  To  the  left  of 
the  animal  was  a  low  rocky  mound,  of  which  Henry  availed 
himself  in  making  his  approach.  After  a  short  time  we 
heard  the  faint  report  of  the  rifle.  The  bull,  mortally 
wounded  from  a  distance  of  nearly  three  hundred  yards, 
ran  wildly  round  and  round  in  a  circle.  Shaw  and  I  then 
galloped  forward,  and  passing  him  as  he  ran,  foaming  with 
rage  and  pain,  we  discharged  our  pistols  into  his  side.  Once 
or  twice  he  rushed  furiously  upon  us,  but  his  strength  was 
rapidly  exhausted.  Down  he  fell  on  his  knees.  For  one 
instant  he  glared  up  at  his  enemies  with  burning  eyes 
through  his  black  tangled  mane,  and  then  rolled  over  on 
his  side.  Though  gaunt  and  thin,  he  was  larger  and  heavier 
than  the  largest  ox.  Foam  and  blood  flew  together  from 
his  nostrils  as  he  lay  bellowing  and  pawing  the  ground, 
tearing  up  grass  and  earth  with  his  hoofs.  His  sides  rose 
and  fell  like  a  vast  pair  of  bellows,  the  blood  spouting  up 
in  jets  from  the  bullet-holes.  Suddenly  his  glaring  eyes 
became  like  a  lifeless  jelly.  He  lay  motionless  on  the  ground. 
Henry  stooped  over  him,  and  making  an  incision  with  his 


324  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

knife,  pronounced  the  meat  too  rank  and  tough  for  use;  so, 
disappointed  in  our  hopes  of  an  addition  to  our  stock  of 
provisions,  we  rode  away  and  left  the  carcass  to  the  wolves. 

In  the  afternoon  we  saw '  the  mountains  rising  like  a 
gigantic  wall  at  no  great  distance  on  our  right.  "Des. 
sauvages!  des  sauvages!'*  exclaimed  Deslauriers,  looking 
round  with  a  frightened  face,  and  pointing  with  his  whip 
toward  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  In  fact,  we  could  see  at 
a  distance  a  number  of  little  black  specks,  like  horsemen  in 
rapid  motion.  Henry  Chatillon,  with  Shaw  and  myself, 
galloped  toward  them  to  reconnoiter,  when  to  our  amuse- 
ment we  saw  the  supposed  Arapahoes  resolved  into  the  black 
tops  of  some  pine  trees  which  grew  along  a  ravine.  The 
summits  of  these  pines,  just  visible  above  the  verge  of  the 
prairie,  and  seeming  to  move  as  we  ourselves  were  advanc- 
ing, looked  exactly  like  a  line  of  horsemen. 

We  encamped  among  ravines  and  hollows  through  which 
a  little  brook  was  foaming  angrily.  Before  sunrise  in  the 
morning  the  snow-covered  mountains  were  beautifully  tinged 
with  a  delicate  rpse  color.  A  noble  spectacle  awaited  us  as 
we  moved  forward.  Six  or  eight  miles  on  our  right,  Pike's 
Peak  and  his  giant  brethren  rose  out  of  the  level  prairie,  as 
if  springing  from  the  bed  of  the  ocean.  From  their  summits 
down  to  the  plain  below  they  were  involved  in  a  mantle  of 
clouds,  in  restless  motion,  as  if  urged  by  strong  winds.  For 
one  instant  some  snowy  peak,  .towering  in  awful  solitude, 
would  be  disclosed  to  view.  As  the  clouds  broke  along  the 
mountain,  we  could  see  the  dreary  forests,  the  tremendous 
precipices,  the  white  patches  of  snow,  the  gulfs  and  chasms 
as  black  as  night,  all  revealed  for  an  instant  and  then  dis- 
appearing from  the  view.  One  could  not  but  recall  the 
stanza  of  "Childe  Harold": 

^'Savages!     savages!" 


THE  LONELY  JOURNEY  325 

•Morn  dawns,  and  with  it  stern  Albania's  hills, 
Dark  Suli's  rocks,  and  Pindus'  inland  peak, 
Robed  half  in  mist,  bedewed  with  snowy  rills, 
Array'd  in  many  a  dun  and  purple  streak, 
Arise ;  and,  as  the  clouds  along  them  break, 
Disclose  the  dwelling  of  the  mountaineer: 
Here  roams  the  wolf,  the  eagle  whets  his  beak, 
Birds,  beasts  of  prey,  and  wilder  men  appear, 
And  gathering  storms  around  convulse  the  closing  year.1 

Every  line  save  one  of  this  description  was  more  than 
verified  here.  There  were  no  "dwellings  of  the  moun- 
taineer" among  these  heights.  Fierce  savages,  restlessly 
wandering  through  summer  and  winter,  alone  invade  them. 
"Their  hand  is  against  every  man,  and  every  man's  hand 
against  them."2 

On  the  day  after,  we  had  left  the  mountains  at  some 
distance.  A  black  cloud  descended  upon  them,  and  a  tre- 
mendous explosion  of  thunder  followed,  reverberating  among 
the  precipices.  In  a  few  moments  everything  grew  black  and 
the  rain  poured  down  like  a  cataract..  We  got  under  an 
old  cottonwood  tree  which  stood  by  the  side  of  a  stream, 
and  waited  there  till  the  rage  of  the  torrent  had  passed. 

The  clouds  opened  at  the  point  where  they  first  had 
gathered,  and  the  whole  sublime  congregation  of  mountains 
was  bathed  at  once  in  warm  sunshine.  They  seemed  more 
like  some  luxurious  vision  of  Eastern3  romance  than  like  a 
reality  of  that  wilderness ;  all  w^ere  melted  together  into  a 
soft  delicious  blue,  as  voluptuous  as  the  sky  of  Naples  or 
the  transparent  sea  that  washes  the  sunny  cliffs  of  Capri. 
On  the  left  the  whole  sky  was  still  of  an  inky  blackness; 
but  two  concentric  rainbows  stood  in  brilliant  relief  against 
it,  while  far  in  front  the  ragged  cloud  still  streamed  before 
the  wind,  and  the  retreating  thunder  muttered  angrily. 

Through  that  afternoon  and  the  next  morning  we  were 

1From  Byron's  Childe   Harold's  Pilgrimage,  Canto  II,  lines  370-378. 

2See  Genesis,  XVI,  12. 

Oriental. 


326  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

passing  down  the  banks  of  the  stream  called  La  Fontaine 
qui  Bouille,1  from  the  boiling  spring  whose  waters  flow  into 
it.  When  we  stopped  at  noon,  we  were  within  six  or  eight 
miles  of  the  Pueblo.  Setting  out  again,  we  found  by  the 
fresh  tracks  that  a  horseman  had  just  been  out  to  reconnoiter 
us;  he  had  circled  half  round  the  camp,  and  then  galloped 
back  full  speed  for  the  Pueblo.  What  made  him  so  shy  of 
us  we  could  not  conceive.  After  an  hour's  ride  we  reached 
the  edge  of  a  hill,  from  which  a  welcome  sight  greeted  us. 
The  Arkansas  ran  along  the  valley  below,  among  woods  and 
groves,  and  closely  nestled  in  the  midst  of  wide  cornfields 
and  green  meadows  where  cattle  were  grazing  rose  the  low 
mud  walls  of  the  Pueblo. 

JThe  Fontaine  qui  Bouille  [  Boiling  Spring  ]  enters  the  Arkansas  at  Pueblo, 
Colorado.  The  stream  derives  its  name  from  two  mineral  springs  near  its  source, 
some  sixty  miles  distant 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    PUEBLO   AND    BENl's    FORT 

We  approached  the  gate  of  the  Pueblo.  It  was  a 
wretched  species  of  fort  of  most  primitive  construction,  being 
nothing  more  than  a  large  square  inclosure,  surrounded  by 
a  wall  of  mud,  miserably  cracked  and  dilapidated.  The 
slender  pickets  that  surmounted  it  were  half  broken  down, 
and  the  gate  dangled  on  its  wooden  hinges  so  loosely,  that 
to  open  or  shut  it  seemed  likely  to  fling  it  down  altogether. 

Two  or  three  squalid  Mexicans,  with  their  broad  hats,  and 
their  vile  faces  overgrown  with  hair,  were  lounging  about 
the  bank  of  the  river  in  front  of  it.  They  disappeared  as  they 

aw  us  approach ;  and  as  we  rode  up  to  the  gate  a  light  active 
little  figure  came  out  to  meet  us.  It  was  our  old  friend 

lichard.  Hie  had  come  from  Fort  Laramie  on  a  trading 
expedition  to  Taos ;  but  finding,  when  he  reached  the  Pueblo, 
that  the  war  would  prevent  his  going  farther,  he  was  quietly 
waiting  till  the  conquest  of  the  country  should  allow  him 
to  proceed.  He  seemed  to  consider  himself  bound  to  do  the 
honors  of  the  place.  Shaking  us  warmly  by  the  hand,  he 
led  the  way  into  the  area. 

Here  we  saw  his  large  Santa  Fe  wagons  standing 
together.  A  few  squaws  and  Spanish  women,  and  a  few 
Mexicans,  as  mean  and  miserable  as  the  place  itself,  were 
lazily  sauntering  about.  Richard  conducted  us  to  the  state 
apartment  of  the  Pueblo,  a  small  mud  room,  very  neatly 
finished,  considering  the  material,  and  garnished  with  a 
crucifix,  a  looking-glass,  a  picture  of  the  Virgin,  and  a  rusty 
horse-pistol.  There  were  no  chairs,  but  instead  of  them  a 
number  of  chests  and  boxes  ranged  about  the  room.  There 
was  another  room  beyond,  less  sumptuously  decorated,  and 

327 


328  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

here  three  or  four  Spanish  girls,  one  of  them  very  pretty, 
were  baking  cakes  at  a  mud  fireplace  in  the  corner.  They 
brought  out  a  poncho,  which  they  spread  upon  the  floor  by 
way  of  table-cloth.  A  supper  which  seemed  to  us  luxurious 
was  soon  laid  out  upon  it,  and  folded  buffalo  robes  were 
placed  around  it  to  receive  the  guests.  Two  or  three  Ameri- 
cans, besides  ourselves,  were  present.  We  sat  down  Turkish 
fashion,  and  began  to  inquire  the  news.  Richard  told  us 
that,  about  three  weeks  before,  General  Kearny's  army  had 
left  Bent's  Fort  to  march  against  Santa  Fe;  that  when  last 
heard  from  they  were  approaching  the  mountainous  defiles 
that  led  to  the  city.  One  of  the  Americans  produced  a 
dingy  newspaper,  containing  an  account  of  the  battles  of 
Palo  Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Palma.  While  we  were  dis- 
cussing these  matters,  the  doorway  was  darkened  by  a  tall, 
shambling  fellow,  who  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
taking  a  leisurely  survey  of  the  premises  before  he  entered. 
He  wore  brown  homespun  pantaloons,  much  too  short  for 
his  legs,  and  a  pistol  and  bowie  knife  stuck  in  his  belt.  His 
head  and  one  eye  were  enveloped  in  a  huge  bandage  of  white 
linen.  Having  completed  his  observations,  he  came  slouch- 
ing in  and  sat  down  on  a  chest.  Eight  or  ten  more  of  the 
same  stamp  followed,  and  very  coolly  arranging  themselves 
about  the  room,  began  to  stare  at  the  company.  Shaw  and 
I  looked  at  each  other.  We  were  forcibly  reminded  of 
the  Oregon  emigrants,  though  these  unwelcome  visitors  had 
a  certain  glitter  of  the  eye,  and  a  compression  of  the  lips, 
which  distinguished  them  from  our  old  acquaintances  of 
the  prairie.  They  began  to  catechise  us  at  once,  inquiring 
whence  we  had  come,  what  we  meant  to  do  next,  and  what 
were  our  future  prospects  in  life. 

The  man  with  the  bandaged  head  had  met  with  an 
untoward  accident  a  few  days  before.  He  was  going  down 
to  the  river  to  bring  water,  and  was  pushing  through  the 
young  willows  which  covered  the  low  ground,  when  he 


THE  PUEBLO  AND  BENT'S  FORT  329 

came  unawares  upon  a  grizzly  bear,  which,  having  just 
eaten  a  buffalo  bull,  had  lain  down  to  sleep  off  the  meal. 
The  bear  rose  on  his  hind  legs,  and  gave  the  intruder  such  a 
blow  with  his  paw  that  he  laid  his  forehead  entirely  bare, 
clawed  off  the  front  of  his  scalp,  and  narrowly  missed 
one  of  his  eyes.  Fortunately  he  was  not  in  a  very  pugna- 
cious mood,  being  surfeited  with  his  late  meal.  The  man's 
companions,  who  were  close  behind,  raised  a  shout  and  the 
bear  walked  away,  crushing  down  the  willows  in  his  leis- 
urely retreat. 

These  men  belonged  to  a  party  of  Mormons,  who,  out 
of  a  well-grounded  fear  of  the  other  emigrants,  had  post- 
poned leaving  the  settlements  until  all  the  rest  were  gone. 
On  account  of  this  delay  they  did  not  reach  Fort  Laramie 
until  it  was  too  late  to  continue  their  journey  to  California. 
Hearing  that  there  was  good  land  at  the  head  of  the 
Arkansas,  they  crossed  over  under  the  guidance  of  Richard, 
and  were  now  preparing  to  spend  the  winter  at  a  spot  about 
half  a  mile  from  the  Pueblo. 

When  we  took  leave  of  Richard,  it  was  near  sunset. 
Passing  out  of  the  gate,  we  could  look  down  the  little  valley 
of  the  Arkansas ;  a  beautiful  scene,  and  doubly  so  to  our 
eyes,  so  long  accustomed  to  deserts  and  mountains.  Tall 
woods  lined  the  river,  with  green  meadows  on  either  hand; 
and  high  bluffs,  quietly  basking  in  the  sunlight,  flanked  the 
narrow  valley.  A  Mexican  on  horseback  was  driving  a  herd 
of  cattle  toward  the  gate,  and  our  little  white  tent,  which 
the  men  had  pitched  under  a  large  tree  in  the  meadow,  made 
a  very  pleasing  feature  in  the  scene.  When  we  reached  it, 
we  found  that  Richard  had  sent  a  Mexican  to  bring  us  an 
abundant  supply  of  green  corn  and  vegetables,  and  invite 
us  to  help  ourselves  to  whatever  we  wished  from  the  fields 
around  the  Pueblo. 

The  inhabitants  were  in  daily  apprehension  of  an  inroad 
from  more  formidable  consumers  than  ourselves.  Every 


330  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

year  at  the  time  when  the  corn  begins  to  ripen,  the  Arapa- 
hoes,  to  the  number  of  several  thousands,  come  and  encamp 
around  the  Pueblo.  The  handful  of  white  men,  who  are 
entirely  at  the  mercy  of  this  swarm  of  barbarians,  choose 
to  make  a  merit  of  necessity;  they  come  forward  very  cor- 
dially, shake  them  by  the  hand,  and  intimate  that  the  harvest 
is  entirely  at  their  disposal.  The  Arapahoes  take  them  at 
their  word,  help  themselves  most  liberally,  and  usually  turn 
their  horses  into  the  cornfields  afterward.  They  have  the 
foresight,  however,  to  leave  enough  of  the  corps  untouched 
to  serve  as  an  inducement  for  planting  the  fields  again  for 
their  benefit  in  the  next  spring. 

The  human  race  in  this  part  of  the  world  is  separated 
into  three  divisions,  arranged  in  the  order  of  their  merits : 
white  men,  Indians,  and  Mexicans;  to  the  latter  of  whom 
the  honorable  title  of  "whites"  is  by  no  means  conceded. 

In  spite  of  the  warm  sunset  of  that  evening,  the  next 
morning  was  a  dreary  and  cheerless  one.  It  rained  steadily, 
clouds  resting  upon  the  very  treetops.  We  crossed  the  river 
to  visit  the  Mormon  settlement.  As  we  passed  through  the 
water,  several  trappers  on  horseback  entered  it  from  the 
other  side.  Their  buckskin  frocks  were  soaked  through  by 
the  rain,  and  clung  fast  to  their  limbs  with  a  most  clammy 
and  uncomfortable  look.  The  water  was  trickling  down 
their  faces,  and  dropping  from  the  ends  of  their  rifles  and 
from  the  traps  which  each  carried  at  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle.  Horses  and  all,  they  had  a  most  disconsolate  and 
woebegone  appearance  which  we  could  not  help  laughing 
at,  forgetting  how  often  we  ourselves  had  been  in  a  similar 
plight. 

After  half  an  hour's  riding  we  saw  the  white  wagons 
of  the  Mormons  drawn  up  among  the  trees.  Axes  were 
sounding,  trees  were  falling,  and  log-huts  going  up  along  the 
edge  of  the  woods  and  upon  the  adjoining  meadow.  As  we 
came  up  the  Mormons  left  their  work  and  seated  them- 


THE  PUEBLO  AND  BENT'S  FORT  331 

selves  on  the  timber  around  us,  when  they  began  earnestly 
to  discuss  points  of  theology,  complain  of  the  ill-usage  they 
had  received  from  the  "Gentiles,"  and  sound  a  lamentation 
over  the  loss  of  their  great  temple  at  Nauvoo.1  After  remain- 
ing with  them  an  hour  we  rode  back  to  our  camp,  happy 
that  the  settlements  had  been  delivered  from  the  presence 
of  such  blind  and  desperate  fanatics. 

On  the  morning  after  this  we  left  the  Pueblo  for  Bent's 
Fort.  The  conduct  of  Raymond  had  lately  been  less  satis- 
factory than  before,  and  we  had  discharged  him  as  soon  as 
we  arrived  at  the  former  place;  so  that  the  party,  ourselves 
included,  was  now  reduced  to  four.  There  was  some  uncer- 
tainty as  to  our  future  course.  The  trail  between  Bent's 
Fort  and  the  settlements,  a  distance  computed  at  six  hundred 
miles,  was  at  this  time  in  a  dangerous  state ;  for  since  the 
passage  of  General  Kearny's  army,  great  numbers  of  hostile 
Indians,  chiefly  Pawnees  and  Comanches,  had  gathered  about 
some  parts  of  it.  A  little  after  this  time  they  became  so 
numerous  and  audacious  that  scarcely  a  single  party,  however 
large,  passed  between  the  fort  and  the  frontier  without  some 
token  of  their  hostility..  The  newspapers  of  the  time  suffi- 
ciently display  this  state  of  things.  Many  men  were  killed, 
and  great  numbers  of  horses  and  mules  carried  off.  Not 
long  since  I  met  with  the  gentleman  who,  during  the  autumn, 
came  from  Santa  Fe  to  Bent's  Fort,  where  he  found  a  party 
of  seventy  men  who  thought  themselves  too  weak  to  go  down 
to  the  settlements  alone,  and  were  waiting  there  for  a 
re-enforcement.  Though  this  excessive  timidity  fully  proves 
the  ignorance  and  credulity  of  the  men,  it  may  also  evince 
the  state  of  alarm  which  prevailed  in  the  country.  When  we 
were  there  in  the  month  of  August,  the  danger  had  not 


332  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

become  so  great.  There  was  nothing  very  attractive  in  the 
neighborhood.  We  supposed,  moreover,  that  we  might  wait 
there  half  the  winter  without  finding  any  party  to  go  down 
with  us;  for  Mr.  Sublette  and  the  others  whom  we  had 
relied  upon  had,  as  Richard  told  us,  already  left  Bent's  Fort. 
Thus  far  on  our  journey  fortune  had  kindly  befriended  us. 
We  resolved  therefore  to  take  advantage  of  her  gracious 
mood,  and,  trusting  for  a  continuance  of  her  favors,  to  set 
out  with  Henry  and  Deslauriers,  and  run  the  gauntlet  of 
the  Indians  in  the  best  way  we  could. 

Bent's  Fort  stands  on  the  river,  about  seventy-five  miles 
below  the  Pueblo.  At  noon  of  the  third  day  we  arrived 
within  three  or  four  miles  of  it,  pitched  our  tent  under  a  tree, 
hung  our  looking-glasses  against  its  trunk,  and  having  made 
our  primitive  toilet,  rode  toward  the  fort.  We  soon  came 
in  sight  of  it,  for  it  is  visible  from  a  considerable  distance, 
standing  with  its  high  clay  walls  in  the  midst  of  the  scorching 
plains.  It  seemed  as  if  a  swarm  of  locusts  had  invaded  the 
country.  The  grass  for  miles  around  was  cropped  close  by 
the  horses  of  General  Kearny's  soldiery.  When  we  came  to 
the  fort,  we  found  that  not  only  had  the  horses  eaten  up  the 
grass,  but  their  owners  had  made  away  with  the  stores  of 
the  little  trading  post ;  so  that  we  had  great  difficulty  in  pro- 
curing the  few  articles  which  we  required  for  our  homeward 
journey.  The  army  was  gone,  the  life  and  bustle  passed 
away,  and  the  fort  was  a  scene  of  dull  and  lazy  tranquillity. 
A  few  invalid  officers  and  soldiers  sauntered  about  the  area, 
which  was  oppressively  hot;  for  the  glaring  sun  was  reflected 
down  upon  it  from  the  high  white  walls  around.  The  pro- 
prietors were  absent,  and  we  were  received  by  Mr.  Holt, 
who  had  been  left  in  charge  of  the  fort.  He  invited  us  to 
dinner,  where,  to  our  admiration,  we  found  a  table  laid  with 
a  white  cloth,  with  castors  in  the  center  and  chairs  placed 
around  it.  This  unwonted  repast  concluded,  we  rode  back 
to  our  camp. 


THE  PUEBLO  AND  BENT'S  FORT 


Here,  as  we  lay  smoking  round  the  fire  after  supper,  we 
saw  through  the  dusk  three  men  approaching  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  fort.  They  rode  up  and  seated  themselves  near 
us  on  the  ground.  The  foremost  was  a  tall,  well-formed 
man,  with  a  face  and  manner  such  as  inspire  confidence  at 
once.  He  wore  a  broad  hat  of  felt,  slouching  and  tattered, 
and  the  rest  of  his  attire  consisted  of  a  frock  and  leggings 
of  buckskin,  rubbed  with  the  yellow  clay  found  among  the 
mountains.  At  the  heel  of  one  of  his  moccasins  was  buckled 
a  huge  iron  spur,  with  a  rowel  five  or  six  inches  in  diameter. 
His  horse,  who  stood  quietly  looking  over  his  head,  had  a 
rude  Mexican  saddle  covered  with  a  shaggy  bearskin,  and 
furnished  with  a  pair  of  wooden  stirrups  of  most  preposterous 
size.  The  next  man  was  a  sprightly,  active  little  fellow, 
about  five  feet  and  a  quarter  high,  but  very  strong  and  com- 
pact. His  face  was  swarthy  as  a  Mexican's  and  covered  with 
a  close,  curly  black  beard.  An  old  greasy  calico  handker- 
chief was  tied  round  his  head,  and  his  close  buckskin  dress 
was  blackened  and  polished  by  grease  and  hard  service.  The 
last  who  came  up  was  a  large  strong  man,  dressed  in  the 
coarse  homespun  of  the  frontiers,  who  dragged  his  long  limbs 
over  the  ground  as  if  he  were  too  lazy  for  the  effort.  He 
had  a  sleepy  gray  eye,  a  retreating  chin,  an  open  mouth  and 
a  protruding  upper  lip,  which  gave  him  an  air  of  exquisite 
indolence  and  helplessness.  He  was  armed  with  an  old 
United  States  yager,1  which  redoubtable  weapon,  though  he 
could  never  hit  his  mark  with  it,  he  was  accustomed  to  cher- 
ish as  the  very  sovereign  of  firearms. 

The  first  two  men  belonged  to  a  party  who  had  just  come 
from  California  with  a  large  band  of  horses,  which  they  had 
disposed  of  at  Bent's  Fort.  Munroe,  the  taller  of  the  two, 
was  from  Iowa.  He  was  an  excellent  fellow,  open,  warm- 
hearted, and  intelligent.  Jim  Gurney,  the  short  man,  was 
a  Boston  sailor,  who  had  come  in  a  trading  vessel  to  Cali- 

1A  rifle  used  by  light  infantry. 


334  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

fornia,  and  taken  the  fancy  to  return  across  the  continent. 
The  journey  had  already  made  him  an  expert  "mountain- 
man,"  and  he  presented  the  extraordinary  phenomenon  of  a 
sailor  who  understood  how  to  manage,  a  horse.  The  third 
of  our  visitors,  named  Ellis,  was  a  Missourian  who  had  come 
out  with  a  party  of  Oregon  emigrants,  but  having  got  as  far 
as  Bridge's  Fort,  he  had  fallen  home-sick,  or  as  Jim  averred, 
love-sick — and  Ellis  was  just  the  man  to  be  balked  in  a  love 
adventure.  He  thought  proper  to  join  the  California  men 
and  return  homeward  in  their,  company. 

They  now  requested  that  they  might  unite  with  our  party, 
and  make  the  journey  to  the  settlements  in  company  with  us. 
We  readily  assented,  for  we  liked  the  appearance  of  the  first 
two  men,  and  were  very  glad  to  gain  so  efficient  a  re-enforce- 
ment. We  told  them  to  meet  us  on  the  next  evening  at  a 
spot  on  the  river  side  about  six  miles  below  the  fort.  Having 
smoked  a  pipe  together,  our  new  allies  left  us  and  we  lay 
down  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TIJTE  ROUGE,  THE  VOLUNTEER 

The  next  morning,  having  directed  Deslauriers  to  repair 
with  his  cart  to  the  place  of  meeting,  we  came  again  to  the 
fort  to  make  some  arrangements  for  the  journey.  After 
completing  these  we  sat  down  under  a  sort  of  porch,  to 
smoke  with  some  Cheyenne  Indians  whom  we  found  there. 
In  a  few  minutes  we  saw  an  extraordinary  little  figure 
approach  us  in  a  military  dress.  He  had  a  small,  round 
countenance,  garnished  about  the  eyes  with  the  kind  of 
wrinkles  commonly  known  as  crow's  feet,  and  surrounded 
by  an  abundant  crop  of  red  curls,  with  a  little  cap  resting 
on  the  top  of  them.  Altogether,  he  had  the  look  of  a  man 
more  conversant  with  mint  juleps  and  oyster  suppers  than 
with  the  hardships  of  prairie  service.  He  came  up  to  us  and 
entreated  that  we  would  take  him  home  to  the  settlements, 
saying  that  unless  he  went  with  us  he  should  have  to  stay 
all  winter  at-  the  fort.  We  liked  our  petitioner's  appear- 
ance so  little  that  we  excused  ourselves  from  complying  with 
his  request.  At  this  he  begged  us  so  hard  to  take  pity  on 
him,  looked  so  disconsolate,  and  told  so  lamentable  a  story 
that  at  last  we  consented,  though  not  without  many  mis- 
givings. 

The  rugged  Anglo-Saxon  of  our  new  recruit's  real  name 
proved  utterly  unmanageable  on  the  lips  of  our  French 
attendants,  and  Henry  Chatillon,  after  various  abortive 
attempts  to  pronounce  it,  one  day  coolly  christened  him  Tete 
Rouge,1  in  honor  of  his  red  curls.  He  had  at  different  times 
been  clerk  of  a  Mississippi  steamboat,  and  agent  in  a  trading 
establishment  at  Nauvoo,  besides  filling  various  other  capaci- 

iRed  Head. 

335 


336  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

ties,  in  all  of  which  he  had  seen  much  more  of  "life"  than 
was  good  for  him.  In  the  spring,  thinking  that  a  summer's 
campaign  would  be  an  agreeable  recreation,  he  had  joined 
a  company  of  St.  Louis  volunteers. 

"There  were  three  of  us,"  said  Tete  Rouge,  "me  and 
Bill  Stevens  and  John  Hopkins.  We  thought  we  would 
just  go  out  with  the  army,  and  when  we  had  conquered  the 
country  we  would  get  discharged  and  take  our  pay,  you 
know,  and  go  down  to  Mexico.  They  say  there  is  plenty  of 
fun  going  on  there.  Then  we  could  go  back  to  New  Orleans 
by  way  of  Vera  Cruz." 

But  Tete  Rouge,  like  many  a  stouter  volunteer,  had 
reckoned  without  his  host.  Fighting  Mexicans  was  a  less 
amusing  occupation  than  he  had  supposed,  and  his  pleasure 
trip  was  disagreeably  interrupted  by  brain  fever,  which 
attacked  him  when  about  halfwray  to  Bent's  Fort.  He  jolted 
along  through  the  rest  of  the  journey  in  a  baggage  wagon. 
When  they  came  to  the  fort  he  was  taken  out  and  left  there, 
together  with  the  rest  of  the  sick.  Bent's  Fort  does  not  sup- 
ply the  best  accommodations  for  an  invalid.  Tete  Rouge's 
sick  chamber  was  a  little  mud  room,  where  he  and  a  com- 
panion attacked  by  the  same  disease  were  laid  together,  with 
nothing  but  a  buffalo  robe  between  them  and  the  ground. 
The  assistant  surgeon's  deputy  visited  them  once  a  day  and 
brought  them  each  a  huge  dose  of  calomel,  the  only  medi- 
cine, according  to  his  surviving  victim,  which  he  was  ac- 
quainted with. 

Tete  Rouge  woke  one  morning,  and  turning  to  his  com- 
panion, saw  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  beams  above  with  the 
glassy  stare  of  a  dead  man.  At  this  the  unfortunate  volun- 
teer lost  his  senses  outright.  In  spite  of  the  doctor,  how- 
ever, he  eventually  recovered ;  though  between  the  brain 
fever  and  the  calomel,  his  mind,  originally  none  of  the 
strongest,  was  so  much  shaken  that  it  had  not  quite  recov- 
ered its  balance  when  we  came  to  the  fort.  In  spite  of  the 


TETE  ROUGE,  THE  VOLUNTEEK  337 

poor  fellow's  tragic  story,  there  was  something  so  ludicrous 
in  his  appearance,  and  the  whimsical  contrast  between  his 
military  dress  and  his  most  unmilitary  demeanor,  that  we 
could  not  help  smiling  at  them.  We  asked  him  if  he  had 
a  gun.  He  said  they  had  taken  it  from  him  during  his 
illness,  and  he  had  not  seen  it  since;  "but  perhaps,"  he 
observed,  looking  at  me  with  a  beseeching  air,  "you  will 
lend  me  one  of  your  big  pistols  if  we  should  meet  with  any 
Indians."  I  next  inquired  if  he  had  a  horse;  he  declared 
he  had  a  magnificent  one,  and  at  Shaw's  request  a  Mexican 
led  him  in  for  inspection.  He  exhibited  the  outline  of  a 
good  horse,  but  his  eyes  were  sunk  in  the  sockets  and  every 
one.  of  his  ribs  could  be  counted.  There  were  certain  marks 
too  about  his  shoulders  which  could  be  accounted  for  by  the 
circumstance  that,  during  Tete  Rouge's  illness,  his  compan- 
ions had  seized  upon  the  insulted  charger,  and  harnessed 
him  to  a  cannon  along  with  the  draft  horses.  To  Tete 
Rouge's  astonishment  we  recommended  him  by  all  means  to 
exchange  the  horse,  if  he  could,  for  a  mule.  Fortunately 
the  people  at  the  fort  were  so  anxious  to.  get  rid  of  him  that 
they  were  willing  to  make  some  sacrifice  to  effect  the  object, 
and  he  succeeded  in  getting  a  tolerable  mule  in  exchange  for 
the  broken-down  steed. 

A  man  soon  appeared  at  the  gate,  leading  in  the  mule 
by  a  cord,  which  he  placed  in  the  hands  of  Tete  Rouge, 
who,  being  somewhat  afraid  of  his  new  acquisition,  tried 
various  flatteries  and  blandishments  to  induce  her  to  come 
forward.  The  mule,  knowing  that  she  was  expected  to 
advance,  stopped  short  in  consequence,  and  stood  fast  as  a 
rock,  looking  straight  forward  with  immovable  composure. 
Being  stimulated  by  a  blow  from  behind,  she  consented  to 
move,  and  walked  nearly  to  the  other  side  of  the  fort  before 
she  stopped  again.  Hearing  the  by-standers  laugh,  Tete 
Rouge  plucked  up  spirit  and  tugged  hard  at  the  rope.  The 
mule  jerked  backward,  spun  herself  round,  and  made  a 


338  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

dash  for  the  gate.  Tete  Rouge,  who  clung  manfully  to 
the  rope,  went  whisking  through  the  air  for  a  few  rods,  when 
he  let  go  and  stood  with  his  mouth  open  staring  after  the 
mule,  who  galloped  away  over  the  prairie.  She  was  soon 
caught  and  brought  back  by  a  Mexican,  who  mounted  a 
horse  and  went  in  pursuit  of  her  with  his  lasso. 

Having  thus  displayed  his  capacities  for  prairie  traveling, 
Tete  proceeded  to  supply  himself  with  provisions  for  the 
journey,  and  with  this  view  he  applied  to  a  quartermaster's 
assistant  who  was  in  the  fort.  This  official  had  a  face  as 
sour  as  vinegar,  being  in  a  state  of  chronic  indignation 
because  he  had  been  left  behind  the  army.  He  was  as 
anxious  as  the  rest  to  get  rid  of  Tete  Rouge.  So,  producing 
a  rusty  key,  he  opened  a  low  door  which  led  to  a  half-sub- 
terranean apartment,  into  which  the  two  disappeared  to- 
gether. After  some  time  they  came  out  again,  Tete  Rouge 
greatly  embarrassed  by  a  multiplicity  of  paper  parcels  con- 
taining the  different  articles  of  his  forty  days'  rations.  They 
were  consigned  to  the  care  of  Deslauriers,  who  about  that 
time  passed  by  with  the  cart  on  his  way  to  the  appointed 
place  of  meeting  with  Munroe  and  his  companions. 

We  next  urged  Tete  Rouge  to  provide  himself  if  he  could 
with  a  gun.  He  accordingly  made  earnest  appeals  to  the 
charity  of  various  persons  in  the  fort,  but  totally  without 
success,  a  circumstance  which  did  not  greatly  disturb  us, 
since  in  the  event  of  a  skirmish  he  would  be  much  more  apt 
to  do  mischief  to  himself  or  his  friends  than  to  the  enemy. 
When  all  these  arrangements  were  completed  we  saddled 
our  horses  and  were  preparing  to  leave  the  fort,  when  look- 
ing round  we  discovered  that  our  new  associate  was  in  fresh 
trouble.  A  man  was  holding  the  mule  for  him  in  the  middle 
of  the  fort  while  he  tried  to  put  the  saddle  on  her  back, 
but  she  kept  stepping  sideways  and  moving  round  and  round 
in  a  circle  until  he  was  almost  in  despair.  It  required  some 
assistance  before  all  his  difficulties  could  be  overcome.  At 


TETE  ROUGE,  THE  VOLUNTEER  339 

length  he  clambered  into  the  black  war  saddle  on  which  he 
was  to  have  carried  terror  into  the  ranks  of  the  Mexicans. 

"Get  up,"  said  Tete  Rouge,  "come  now,  go  along,  will 
you." 

The  mule  walked  deliberately  forward  out  of  the  gate. 
Her  recent  conduct  had  inspired  him  with  so  much  awe 
that  he  never  dared  to  touch  her  with  his  whip.  We  trotted 
forward  toward  the  place  of  meeting,  but  before  he  had  gone 
far  we  saw  that  Tete  Rouge's  mule,  who  perfectly  under- 
stood her  rider,  had  stopped  and  was  quietly  grazing,  in 
spite  of  his  protestations,  at  some  distance  behind.  So  get- 
ting behind  him,  we  drove  him  and  the  contumacious  mule 
before  us,  until  we  could  see  through  the  twilight  the  gleam- 
ing of  a  distant  fire.  Munroe,  Jim,  and  Ellis  were  lying 
around  it;  their  saddles,  packs,  and  weapons  were  scattered 
about  and  their  horses  picketed  near  them.  Deslauriers  was 
there  too  with  our  little  cart.  Another  fire  was  soon  blazing 
high.  We  irivited  our  new  allies  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee 
with  us.  When  both  the  others  had  gone  over  to  their  side 
of  the  camp,  Jim  Gurney  still  stood  by  the  blaze,  puffing 
hard  at  his  little  black  pipe,  as  short  and  weather-beaten 
as  himself. 

"Well!"  he  said,  "here  are  eight  of* us;  we'll  call  it  six 
—for  them  two  boobies,  Ellis  over  yonder,  and  that  new  man 
of  yours,  won't  count  for  anything.  We'll  get  through  well 
enough,  never  fear  for  that,  unless  the  Comanches  happen 
to  get  foul  of  us." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

INDIAN  ALARMS 

We  began  our  journey  for  the  frontier  settlements  on 
the  twenty-seventh  of  August,  and  certainly  a  more  raga- 
muffin cavalcade  never  was  seen  on  the  banks  of  the  upper 
Arkansas.  Of  the  large  and  fine  horses  with  which  we  had 
left  the  frontier  in  the  spring,  not  one  remained;  we  had 
supplied  their  place  with  the  rough  breed  of  the  prairie,  as 
hardy  as  mules  and  almost  as  ugly;  we  had  also  with  us  a 
number  of  the  latter  detestable  animals.  In  spite  of  their 
strength  and  hardihood,  several  of  the  band  were  already 
worn  down  by  hard  service  and  hard  fare,  and  as  none  of 
them  were  shod,  they  were  fast  becoming  foot-sore.  Every 
horse  and  mule  had  a  cord  of  twisted  bull-hide  coiled  around 
his  neck,  which  by  no  means  added  to  the  beauty  of  his 
appearance.  Our  saddles  and  all  our  equipments  were  by 
this  time  lamentably  worn  and  battered,  and  our  weapons 
had  become  dull  and  rusty.  The  dress  of  the  riders  fully 
corresponded  with  the  dilapidated  furniture  of  our  horses, 
and  of  the  whole  party  none  made  a  more  disreputable 
appearance  than  my  friend  and  I.  Shaw  had  for  an  upper 
garment  an  old  red  flannel  shirt,  flying  open  in  front  and 
belted  around  him  like  a  frock;  while  I,  in  absence  of  other 
clothing,  was  attired  in  a  time-worn  suit  of  leather. 

Thus,  happy  and  careless  as  so  many  beggars,  we  crept 
slowly  from  day  to  day  along  the  monotonous  banks  of  the 
Arkansas.  Tete  Rouge  gave  constant  trouble,  for  he  could 
never  catch  his  mule,  saddle  her,  or  indeed  do  anything  else 
without  assistance.  Every  day  he  had  some  new  ailment, 
real  or  imaginary,  to  complain  of.  At  one  moment  he  would 
be  woebegone  and  disconsolate,  and  the  next  he  would  be 

340 


INDIAN  ALARMS  341 

visited  with  a  violent  flow  of  spirits,  to  which  he  could  only 
give  vent  by  incessant  laughing,  whistling,  and  .telling  stories. 
When  other  resources  failed,  we  used  to  amuse  ourselves 
by  tormenting  him ;  a  fair  compensation  for  the  trouble  he 
cost  us.  Tete  Rouge  rather  enjoyed  being  laughed  at,  for 
he  was  an  odd  compound  of  weakness,  egcentricity,  and  good- 
nature. He  made  a  figure  worthy  of  a  painter  as  he  paced 
along  before  us,  perched  on  the  back  of  his  mule,  and  envel- 
oped in  a  huge  buffalo-robe  coat  which  some  charitable  per- 
son had  given  him  at  the  fort.  This  extraordinary  garment, 
which  would  have  contained  two  men  of  his  size,  he  chose, 
for  some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  to  wear  inside  out, 
and  he  never  took  it  off  even  in  the  hottest  weather.  It  was 
fluttering  all  over  with  seams  and  tatters,  and  the  hide  was 
so  old  and  rotten  that  it  broke  out  every  day  in  a  new  place. 
Just  at  the  top  of  it  a  large  pile  of  red  curls  was  visible, 
with  his  little  cap  set  jauntily  upon  one  side  to  give  him  a 
military  air.  His  seat  in  the  saddle  was  no  less  remarkable 
than  his  person  and  equipment.  He  pressed  one  leg  close 
against  his  mule's  side,  and  thrust  the  other  out  at  an  angle 
of  forty-five  degrees.  His  pantaloons  were  decorated  with 
a  military  red  stripe,  of  which  he  was  extremely  vain;  but 
being  much  too  short,  the  whole  length  of  his  boots  was 
usually  visible  below  them.  His  blanket,  loosely  rolled  up 
into  a  large  bundle,  dangled  at  the  back  of  his  saddle,  where 
he  carried  it  tied  with  a  string.  Four  or  five  times  a  day 
it  would  fall  to  the  ground.  Every  few  minutes  he  would 
drop  his  pipe,  his  knife,  his  flint  and  steel,  or  a  piece  of 
tobacco,  and  have  to  scramble  down  to  pick  them  up.  In 
doing  this  he  would  contrive  to  get  in  everybody's  way;  and 
as  the  most  of  the  party  were  by  no  means  remarkable  for 
a  fastidious  choice  of  language,  a  storm  of  anathemas  would 
be  showered  upon  him,  half  in  earnest  and  half  in  jest,  until 
Tete  Rouge  would  declare  that  there  was  no  comfort  in  life 
and  that  he  never  saw  such  fellows  before. 


342  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Only  a  day  or  two  after  leaving  Bent's  Fort  Henry  Cha- 
tillon  rode  fojward  to  hunt,  and  took  Ellis  along  with  him. 
After  they  had  been  some  time  absent  we  saw  them  coming 
down  the  hill,  driving  three  dragoon-horses,  which  had 
escaped  from  their  owners  on  the  march,  or  perhaps  had 
given  out  and  been  abandoned.  One  of  them  was  in  toler- 
able condition,  but  the  others  were  much  emaciated  and 
severely  bitten  by  the  wolves.  Reduced  as  they  were  we  car- 
ried two  of  them  to  the  settlements,  and  Henry  exchanged 
the  third  with  the  Arapahoes  for  an  excellent  mule. 

On  the  day  after,  when  we  had  stopped  to  rest  at  noon, 
a  long  train  of  Santa  Fe  wagons  came  up  and  trailed  slowly 
past  us  in  their  picturesque  procession.  They  belonged  to  a 
trader  named  Magoffin,  whose  brother,  with  a  number  of 
other  men,  came  over  and  sat  down  around  us  on  the  grass. 
The  news  they  brought  was  not  of  the  most  pleasing  com- 
plexion. According  to  their  accounts,  the  trail '  below  was 
in  a  very  dangerous  state.  They  had  repeatedly  detected 
Indians  prowling  at  night  around  their  camps;  and  the  large 
party  which  had  left  Bent's  Fort  a  few  weeks  previous  to 
our  own  departure  had  been  attacked,  and  a  man  named 
Swan,  from  Massachusetts,  had  been  killed.  His  companions 
had  buried  the  body,  but  when  Magoffin  found  his  grave, 
which  was  near  a  place  called  the  Caches,1  the  Indians  had 
dug  up  and  scalped  him,  and  the  wolves  had  shockingly 
mangled  his  remains.  As  an  offset  to  this  intelligence,  they 
gave  us  the  welcome  'information  that  the  buffalo  were 
numerous  at  a  few  days'  journey  below. 

On  the  next  afternoon,  as  we  moved  along  the  bank  of 
the  river,  we  saw  the  white  tops  of  wagons  on  the  horizon. 
It  was  some  hours  before  we  met  them,  when  they  proved  to 
be  a  train  of  clumsy  ox-wagons,  quite  different  from  the 

lln  the  spring  of  1823  two  Santa  Fe  traders,  Beard  and  Chambers,  who  had 
been  compelled  to  spend  the  winter  on  the  Arkansas,  "cached,"  or  buried,  their 
goods  in  pits  dug  in  the  bank  of  the  river,  while  they  proceeded  to  Taos,  New 
Mexico,  for  pack  animals.  The  pits  were  about  five  miles  west  of  the  present 
Dodge  City,  Kansas.  The  region  was  known  as  the  "Caches"  until  recent  times. 


INDIAN  ALARMS  343 

rakish  vehicles  of  the  Santa  Fe  traders,  and  loaded  with 
government  stores  for  the  troops.  They  all  stopped  and  the 
drivers  gathered  around  us  in  a  crowd.  I  thought  that  the 
whole  frontier  might  have  been  ransacked  in  vain  to  furnish 
men  worse  fitted  to  meet  the  dangers  of  the  prairie.  Many 
of  them  were  mere  boys,  fresh  from  the  plow  and  devoid  of 
knowledge  and  experience.  In  respect  to  the  state  of  the 
trail,  they  confirmed  all  that  the  Santa  Fe  men  had  told  us. 
In  passing  between  the  Pawnee  Fork  and  the  Caches,  their 
sentinels  had  fired  every  night  at  real  or  imaginary  Indians. 
They  said  also  that  Ewing,  a  young  Kentuckian  in  the 
party  that  had  gone  down  before  us,  had  shot  an  Indian  who 
was  prowling  at  evening  about  the  camp.  Some  of  them 
advised  us  to  turn  back,  and  others  to  hasten  forward  as  fast 
as  we  could ;  but  they  all  seemed  in  such  a  state  of  feverish 
anxiety,  and  so  little  capable  of  cool  judgment,  that  we 
attached  slight  weight  to  what  they  said.  They  next  gave 
us  a  more  definite  piece  of  intelligence:  a  large  village  of 
Arapahoes  wTas  encamped  on  the  river  below.  They  repre- 
sented them  to  be  quite  friendly;  but  some  distinction  was 
to  be  made  between  a  party  of  thirty  men,  traveling  with 
oxen,  which  are  of  no  value  in  an  Indian's  eyes,  and  a  mere 
handful  like  ourselves,  with  a  tempting  band  of  mules  and 
horses.  This  story  of  the  Arapahoes  therefore  caused  us 
some  anxiety. 

Just  after  leaving  the  government  wagons,  as  Shaw  and 
I  were  riding  along  a  narrow  passage  between  the  river  bank 
and  a  rough  hill  that  pressed  close  upon  it,  we  heard  Tete 
Rouge's  voice  behind  us.  "H'allo!"  he  called  out;  "I  say, 
stop  the  cart  just  for  a  minute,  will  you?" 

"What's  the  matter,  Tete?"  asked  Shaw,  as  he  came 
riding  up  to  us  with  a  grin  of  exultation.  He  had  a  bottle 
of  molasses  in  one  hand,  and  a  large  bundle  of  hides  on  the 
saddle  before  him,  containing,  as  he  triumphantly  informed 
us,  sugar,  biscuits,  coffee,  and  rice.  These  supplies  he  had 


344  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

obtained  by  a  stratagem  on  which  he  greatly  plumed  him- 
self, and  he  was  extremely  vexed  and  astonished  that  we 
did  not  fall  in  with  his  views  of  the  matter.  He  had  told 
Coates,  the  master-wagoner,  that  the  commissary  at  the  fort 
had  given  him  an  order  for  sick-rations,  directed  to  the  master 
of  any  government  train  which  he  might  meet  upon  the 
road.  This  order  he  had  unfortunately  lost,  but  he  hoped 
that  the  rations  would  not  be  refused  on  that  account,  as 
he  was  suffering  from  coarse  fare  and  needed  them  very 
much.  As  soon  as  he  came  to  camp  that  night,  Tete  Rouge 
repaired  to  the  box  at  the  back  of  the  cart,  where  Deslauriers 
used  to  keep  his  culinary  apparatus,  took  possession  of  a 
saucepan,  and  after  building  a  little  fire  of  his  own,  set  to 
work  preparing  a  meal  out  of  his  ill-gotten  booty.  This 
done,  he  seized  on  a  tin  plate  and  spoon  and  sat  down  under 
the  cart  to  regale  himself.  His  preliminary  repast  did  not 
at  all  prejudice  his  subsequent  exertions  at  supper;  where, 
in  spite  of  his  miniature  dimensions,  he  made  a  better  figure 
than  any  of  us.  Indeed,  about  this  time  his  appetite  grew 
quite  voracious.  He  began  to  thrive  wonderfully.  His 
small  body  visibly  expanded,  and  his  cheeks,  which  when  we 
first  took  him  were  rather  yellow  and  cadaverous,  now 
dilated  in  a  wonderful  manner,  and  became  ruddy  in  pro- 
portion. Tete  Rouge,  in  short,  began  to  appear  like  another 
man. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  looking  along 
the  edge  of  the  horizon  in  front,  we  saw  that  at  one  point  it 
was  faintly  marked  with  pale  indentations,  like  the  teeth 
of  a  saw.  The  lodges  of  the  Arapahoes,  rising  between  us 
and  the  sky,  caused  this  singular  appearance.  It  wanted 
still  two  or  three  hours  of  sunset  when  we  came  opposite 
their  camp.  There  were  full  two  hundred  lodges  standing 
in  the  midst  of  a  grassy  meadow  at  some  distance  beyond 
the  river,  while  for  a  mile  around  and  on  either  bank  of  the 
Arkansas  were  scattered  some  fifteen  hundred  horses  and 


INDIAN  ALARMS  345 

mules,  grazing  together  in  bands  or  wandering  singly  about 
the  prairie.  The  whole  were  visible  at  once,  for  the  vast 
expanse  was  unbroken  by  hills,  and  there  was  not  a  tree 
or  a  bush  to  intercept  the  view. 

Here  and  there  walked  'an  Indian  engaged  in  watching 
the  horses.  No  sooner  did  we  see  them  than  Tete  Rouge 
begged  Deslauriers  to  stop  the  cart  and  hand  him  his  little 
military  jacket,  which  was  stowed  away  there.  In  this  he 
instantly  invested  himself,  having  for  once  laid  the  old  buffalo 
coat  aside,  assumed  a  most  martial  posture  in  the  saddle,  set 
his  cap  over  his  left  eye  with  an  air  of  defiance,  and  earnestly 
entreated  that  somebody  would  lend  him  a  gun  or  pistol  only 
for  half  an  hour.  Being  called  upon  to  explain  these  remark- 
able proceedings,  Tete  Rouge  observed  that  he  knew  from 
experience  what  effect  the  presence  of  a  military  man  in  his 
uniform  always  had  upon  the  mind  of  an  Indian,  and  he 
thought  the  Arapahoes  ought  to  know  that  there  was  a 
soldier  in  the  party. 

Meeting  Arapahoes  here  on  the  Arkansas  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  meeting  the  same  Indians  among  their  native 
mountains.  There  was  another  circumstance  in  our  favor. 
General  Kearny  had  seen  them  a  few  weeks  before  as  he  came 
up  the  river  with  his  army,  and  renewing  his  threats  of  the 
previous  year,  he  told  them  that  if  they  ever  again  touched  the 
hair  of  a- white  man's  head  he  would  exterminate  their  nation. 
This  placed  them  for  the  time  in  an  admirable  frame  of  mind, 
and  the  effect  of  his  menaces  had  not  yet  disappeared.  I  was 
anxious  to  see  the  village  and  its  inhabitants.  We  thought  it 
also  our  best  policy  to  visit  them  openly,  as  if  unsuspicious  of 
any  hostile  design;  and  Shaw  and  I,  with  Henry  Chatillon, 
prepared  to  cross  the  river.  The  rest  of  the  party  mean- 
•  while  moved  forward  as  fast  as  they  could,  in  order  to  get 
as  far  as  possible  from  our  suspicious  neighbors  before  night 
came  on. 

The  Arkansas  at   this  point,   and   for  several   hundred 


346  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

miles  below,  is  nothing  but  a  broad  sand-bed,  over  which 
a  few  scanty  threads  of  water  are  swiftly  gliding,  now  and 
then  expanding  into  wide  shallows.  At  several  places,  during 
the  autumn,  the  water  sinks  into  the  sand  and  disappears 
altogether.  At  this  season,  were  it  not  for  the  numerous 
quicksands,  the  river  'might  be  forded  almost  anywhere 
without  difficulty,  though  its  channel  is  often  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  wide.  Our  horses  jumped  down  the  bank,  and  wading 
through  the  water  or  galloping  freely  over  the  hard  sand- 
beds,  soon  reached  the  other  side.  Here,  as  we  were  pushing 
through  the  tall  grass,  we  saw  several  Indians  not  far  off; 
one  of  them  waited  until  we  came  up,  and  stood  for  some 
moments  in  perfect  silence  before  us,  looking  at  us  askance 
with  his  little  snakelike  eyes.  Henry  explained  by  signs 
what  we  wanted,  and  the  Indian,  gathering  his  buffalo  robe 
about  his  shoulders,  led  the  way  toward  the  village  without 
speaking  a  word. 

The  language  of  the  Arapahoes  is  so  difficult,  and  its 
pronunciation  so  harsh  and  guttural,  that  no  white  man,  it 
is  said,  has  ever  been  able  to  master  it.  Even  Maxwell  the 
trader,  who  has  been  most  among  them,  is  compelled  to 
resort  to  the  curious  sign  language  common  to  most  of  the 
prairie  tribes.  With  this  Henry  Chatillon  was  perfectly 
acquainted. 

Approaching  the  village,  we  found  the  ground  all  around 
it  strewn  with  great  piles  of  waste  buffalo  meat  in  incredible 
quantities.  The  lodges  were  pitched  in  a  very  wide  circle. 
They  resembled  those  of  the  Dakota  in  everything  but  clean- 
liness and  neatness.  Passing  between  two  of  them,  we 
entered  the  great  circular  area  of  the  camp,  and  instantly 
hundreds  of  Indians,  men,  women,  and  children,  came  flock- 
ing out  of  their  habitations  to  look  at  us;  at  the  same  time 
the  dogs  all  around  the  village  set  up  a  fearful  baying.  Our 
Indian  guide  walked  toward  the  lodge  of  the  chief.  Here 
we  dismounted ;  arid  loosening  the  trail-ropes  from  our  horses' 


INDIAN  ALARMS  347 


necks,  held  them  securely,  and  sat  down  before  the  entrance 
with  our  rifles  laid  across  our  laps.  The  chief  came  out  and 
shook  us  by  the  hand.  He  was  a  mean-looking  fellow,  very 
tall,  thin-visaged,  and  sinewy,  like  the  rest  of  the  nation,  and 
with  scarcely  a  vestige  of  clothing.  We  had  not  been  seated 
half  a  minute  before  a  multitude  of  Indians  came  crowding 
around  us  from  every  part  of  the  village,  and  we  were  shut 
in  by  a  dense  wall  of  savage  faces.  Some  of  the  Indians 
crouched  around  us  on  the  ground;  others  again  sat  behind 
them;  others,  stooping,  looked  over  their  heads;  while  many 
more  stood  crowded  behind,  stretching  themselves  upward 
and  peering  over  each  other's  shoulders  to  get  a  view  of  us. 
I  looked  in  vain  among  this  multitude  of  faces  to  discover 
one  manly  or  generous  expression ;  all  were  wolfish,  sinister, 
and  malignant,  and  their  complexions,  as  well  as  their  feat- 
ures, unlike  those  of  the  Dakota,  were  exceedingly  bad.  The 
chief,  who  sat  close  to  the  entrance,  called  to  a  squaw  within 
the  lodge,  who  soon  came  out  and  placed  a  wooden  bowl  of 
meat  before  us.  To  our  surprise,  however,  no  pipe  was 
offered.  Having  tasted  of  the  meat  as  a  matter  of  form,  I 
began  to  open  a  bundle  of  presents — tobacco,  knives,  vermil- 
ion, and  other  articles  which  I  had  brought  with  me.  At  this 
there  was  a  grin  on  every  countenance  in  th'e  rapacious  crowd  ; 
their  eyes  began  to  glitter,  and  long  thin  arms  were  eagerly 
stretched  toward  us  on  all  sides  to  receive  the  gifts. 

The  Arapahoes  set  great  value  upon  their  shields,  which 
they  transmit  carefully  from  father  to  son.  I  wished  to  get 
one  of  them;  and  displaying  a  large  piece  of  scarlet  cloth, 
together  with  some  tobacco  and  a  knife,  I  offered  them  to 
any  one  who  would  bring  me  what  I  wanted.  After  some 
delay  a  tolerable  shield  was  produced.  They  were  very 
anxious  to  know  what  we  meant  to  do  with  it,  and  Henry 
told  them  that  we  were  going  to  fight  their  enemies,  the 
Pawnees.  This  instantly  produced  a  visible  impression  in 
our  favor,  which  was  increased  by  the  distribution  of  the 


348  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

presents.  Among  these  was  a  large  paper  of  awls,  a  gift 
appropriate  to  the  women  j1  and  as  we  were  anxious  to  see  the 
beauties  of  the  Arapahoe  village,  Henry  requested  that  they 
might  be  called  to  receive  them.  A  warrior  gave  a  shout  as 
if  he  were  calling  a  pack  of  dogs  together.  The  squaws, 
young  and  old,  hags  of  eighty  and  girls  of  sixteen,  came  run- 
ning with  screams  and  laughter  out  of  the  lodges ;  and  as  the 
men  gave  way  for  them  they  gathered  round  us  and  stretched 
out  their  arms,  grinning  with  delight,  their  native  ugliness 
considerably  enhanced  by  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 

Mounting  our  horses,  which  during  the  whole  interview 
we  had  held  close  to  us,  we  prepared  to  leave  the  Arapahoes. 
The  crowd  fell  back  on  each  side  and  stood  looking  on. 
When  we  were  half  across  the  camp  an  idea  occurred  to  us. 
The  Pawnees  were  probably  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Caches;  we  might  tell  the  Arapahoes  of  this  and  instigate ' 
them  to  send  down  a  war  party  and  cut  them  off,  while  we 
ourselves  could  remain  behind  for  a  while  and  hunt  the  buf- 
falo. At  first  thought  this  plan  of  setting  our  enemies  to 
destroy  one  another  seemed  to  us  a  masterpiece  of  policy; 
but  we  immediately  recollected  that  should  we  meet  the 
Arapahoe  warriors  on  the  river  below,  they  might  prove 
quite  as  dangerous*  as  the  Pawnees  themselves.  So  rejecting 
our  plan  as  soon  as  it  presented  itself,  we  passed  out  of  the 
village  on  the  farther  side.  We  urged  our  horses  rapidly 
through  the  tall  grass  which  rose  to  their  necks.  Several 
Indians  were  walking  through  it  at  a  distance,  their  heads 
just  visible  above  its  waving  surface.  It  bore  a  kind  of  seed 
as  svreet  and  nutritious  as  oats;  and  our  hungry  horses,  in 
spite  of  whip  and  rein,  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
snatching  at  this  unwonted  luxury  as  we  passed  along.  When 
about  a  mile  from  the  village  I  turned  and  looked  back  over 
the  undulating  .ocean  of  grass.  The  sun  was  just  set;  the 
western  sky  wras  all  in  a  glow,  and  sharply  defined  against  it, 

1Used  by  the  Indians  in  place  of  needles. 


on  the  extre 


INDIAN  ALARMS  349 


the  extreme  verge  of  the  plain,  stood  the  numerous  lodges 
of  the  Arapahoe  camp. 

Reaching  the  bank  of  the  river,  we  followed  it  for  some 
distance  farther,  f  until  we  discerned  through  the  twilight 
the  white  covering  of  our  little  cart  on  the  opposite  bank. 
When  we  reached  it  we  found  a  considerable  number  of 
Indians  there  before  us.  Four  or  five  of  them  were  seated 
in  a  row  upon  the  ground,  looking  like  so  many  half -starved 
vultures.  Tete  Rouge,  in  his  uniform,  was  holding  a  close 
colloquy  with  another  by  the  side  of  the  cart.  His  gesticu- 
lations, his  attempts  at  sign-making,  and  the  contortions  of 
his  countenance,  were  most  ludicrous;  and  finding  all  these 
of  no  avail,  he  tried  to  make  the  Indian  understand  him  by 
repeating  English  words  very  loudly  and  distinctly  again  and 
again.  The  Indian  sat  with  his  eye  fixed  steadily  upon  him, 
and  in  spite  of  the  rigid  immobility  of  his  features,  it  was? 
clear  at  a  glance  that  he  perfectly  understood  his  military 
companion's  character  and  thoroughly  despised  him.  The 
exhibition  was  more  amusing  than  politic,  and  Tete  Rouge 
was  directed  to  finish  what  he  had  to  say  as  soon  as  possible. 
Thus  rebuked,  he  crept  under  the  cart  and  sat  down  there; 
Henry  Chatillon  stooped  to  look  at  him  in  his  retirement, 
and  remarked  in  his  quiet  manner  that  an  Indian  would  kill 
ten  such  men  and  laugh  all  the  time. 

One  by  one  our  visitors  rose  and  stalked  away.  As  the 
darkness  thickened  we  were  saluted  by  dismal  sounds.  The 
wolves  are  incredibly  numerous  in  this  part  of  the  country, 
and  the  offal  around  the  Arapahoe  camp  had  drawn  such 
multitudes  of  them  together  that  several  hundreds  were 
howling  in  concert  in  our  immediate  neighborhood.  There 
was  an  island  in  the  river,  or  rather  an  oasis  in  the  midst  of 
the  sands,  at  about  the  distance  of  a  gunshot,  and  here  they 
seemed  gathered  in  the  greatest  numbers.  A  horrible  dis- 
cord of  low  mournful  wailings>  mingled  with  ferocious 
howls,  arose  from  it  incessantly  for  several  hours  after  sunset. 


350  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

We  could  distinctly  see  the  wolves  running  about  the  prairie 
within  a  few  rods  of  our  fire,  or  bounding  over  the  sand- 
beds  of  the  river  and  splashing  through  the  water.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  danger  to  be  feared  from  them,  for  they 
are  the  greatest  cowards  on  the  prairie. 

In  respect  to  the  human  wolves  in  our  neighborhood,  we 
felt  much  less  at  our  ease.  We  seldom  erected  our  tent 
except  in  bad  weather,  and  that  night  each  man  spread  his 
buffalo  robe  upon  the  ground  with  his  loaded  rifle  laid  at  his 
side  or  clasped  in  his  arms.  Our  horses  were  picketed  so 
close  around  us  that  one  of  them  repeatedly  stepped  over  me 
as  I  lay.  We  were  not  in  the  habit  of  placing  a  guard,  but 
every  man  that  night  was  anxious  and  watchful ;  there  was 
little  sound  sleeping  in  camp,  and  some  one  of  the  party  was 
on  his  feet  during  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  For  myself, 
I  lay  alternately  waking  and  dozing  until  midnight.  Tete 
Rouge  was  reposing  close  to  the  river  bank,  and  about  this 
time,  when  half  asleep  and  half  awake,  I  was  conscious  that 
he  shifted  his  position  and  crept  on  all-fours  under  the  cart. 
Soon  after  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep  from  which  I  was  aroused 
by  a  hand  shaking  me  by  the  shoulder.  Looking  up,  I  saw 
Tete  Rouge  stooping  over  me  with  his  face  quite  pale  and 
his  eyes  dilated  to  their  utmost  expansion. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  I. 

Tete  Rouge  declared  that  as  he  lay  on  the  river  bank, 
something  caught  his  eye  which  excited  his  suspicions.  So 
creeping  under  the  cart  for  safety's  sake  he  sat  there  and 
watched,  when  he  saw  two  Indians,  wrapped  in  white  robes, 
creep  up  the  bank,  seize  upon  two  horses  and  lead  them  off. 
He  looked  so  frightened,  and  told  his  story  in  such  a  discon- 
nected manner,  that  I  did  not  believe  him,  and  was  unwill- 
ing to  alarm  the  party.  Still  it  might  be  true,  and  in  that 
case  the  matter  required  instant  attention.  There  would  be 
no  time  for  examination,  and  so  directing  Tete  Rouge  to 
show  me  which  way  the  Indians  had  gone,  I  took  my  rifle,  in 


INDIAN  ALARMS  351 

obedience  to  a  thoughtless  impulse,  and  left  the  camp.  I 
followed  the  river  bank  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards, 
listening  and  looking  anxiously  on  every  side.  In  the  dark 
prairie  on  the  right  I  could  discern  nothing  to  excite  alarm; 
and  in  the  dusky  bed  of  the  river,  a  wolf  was  bounding  along 
in  a  manner  which  no  Indian  could  imitate.  I  returned  to 
the  camp,  and  when  within  sight  of  it,  saw  that  the  whole 
party  was  aroused.  Shaw  called  out  to  me  that  he  had 
counted  the  horses,  and  that  every  one  of  them  was  in  his 
place.  Tete  Rouge,  being  examined  as  to  what  he  had  seen, 
only  repeated  his  former  story  with  many  asseverations,  and 
insisted  that  two  horses  were  certainly  carried  off.  At  this 
Jim  Gurney  declared  that  he  was  crazy;  Tete  Rouge  indig- 
nantly denied  the  charge,  on  which  Jim  appealed  to  us.  As 
we  declined  to  give  our  judgment  on  so  delicate  a  matter, 
the  dispute  grew  hot  between  Tete  Rouge  and  his  accuser, 
until  he  was  directed  to  go  to  bed  and  not  alarm  the  camp 
again  if  he  saw  the  whole  Arapahoe  village  coming. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    CHASE 

The  country  before  us  was  now  thronged  with  buffalo, 
and  a  sketch  of  the  manner  of  hunting  them  will  not  be  out 
of  place.  There  are  two  methods  commonly  practiced,  "run- 
ning" and  "approaching."  The  chase  on  horseback,  which 
goes  by  the  name  of  "running,"  is  the  more  violent  and  dash- 
ing mode  of  the  two.  Indeed,  of  all  American  wild  sports, 
this  is  the  wildest.  Once  among  the  buffalo,  the  hunter, 
unless  long  use  has  made  him  familiar  with  the  situation, 
dashes  forward  in  utter  recklessness  and  self-abandonment. 
He  thinks  of  nothing,  cares  for  nothing  but  the  game;  his 
mind  is  stimulated  to  the  highest  pitch,  yet  intensely  concen- 
trated on  one  object.  In  the  midst  of  the  flying  herd,  where 
the  uproar  and  the  dust-  are  thickest,  it  never  wavers  for  a 
moment;  he  drops  the  rein  and  abandons  his  horse  to  his 
furious  career ;  he  levels  his  gun,  the  report  sounds  faint 
amid  the  thunder  of  the  buffalo;  and  when  his  wounded 
enemy  leaps  in  vain  fury  upon  him,  his  heart  thrills  with  a 
feeling  like  the  fierce  delight  of  the  battlefield.  A  practiced 
and  skillful  hunter,  well  mounted,  will  sometimes  kill  five  or 
six  cows  in  a  single  chase,  loading  his  gun  again  and  again 
as  his  horse  rushes  through  the  tumult.  An  exploit  like  this 
is  quite  beyond  the  capacities  of  a  novice.  In  attacking  a 
small  band  of  buffalo,  or  in  separating  a  single  animal  from 
the  herd  and  assailing  it  apart  from  the  rest,  there  is  less 
excitement  and  less  danger.  With  a  bold  and  well  trained 
horse  the  hunter  may  ride  so  close  to  the  buffalo  that  as  they 
gallop  side  by  side  he  may  reach  over  and  touch  him  with  his 
hand;  nor  is  there  much  danger  in  this  as  long  as  the  buf- 
falo's strength  and  breath  continue  unabated;  but  when  he 

352 


THE  CHASE  353 

becomes  tired  and  can  no  longer  run  at  ease,  when  his  tongue 
lolls  out  and  foam  flies  from  his  jaws,  then  the  hunter  had 
better  keep  at  a  more  respectful  distance ;  the  distressed  brute 
may  turn  upon  him  at  any  instant,  and  especially  at  the 
moment  when  he  fires  his  gun.  The  wounded  buffalo  springs 
at  his  enemy;  the  horse  leaps  violently  aside;  and  then  the 
hunter  has  need  of  a  tenacious  seat  in  the  saddle,  for  if  he 
is  thrown  to  the  ground  there  is  no  hope  for  him.  When  he 
sees  his  attack  defeated  the  buffalo  resumes  his  flight,  but  if 
the  shot  be  well  directed  he  soon  stops;  for  a  few  moments 
he  stands  still,  then  totters  and  falls  heavily  upon  the  prairie. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  running  buffalo,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
is  that  of  loading  the  gun  or  pistol  at  full  gallop.  Many 
hunters  for  convenience'  sake  carry  three  or  four  bullets  in 
the  mouth ;  the  powder  is  poured  down  the  muzzle  of  the 
piece,  the  bullet  dropped  in  after  it,  the  stock  struck  hard 
upon  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  the  work  is  done.  The 
"danger  of  this  method  is  obvious.  Sho,uld  the  blow  on  the 
pommel  fail  to  send  the  bullet  home,  or  should  the  latter,  in 
the  act  of  aiming,  start  from  its  place  and  roll  toward  the 
muzzle,  the  gun  would  probably  burst  in  discharging.  Many 
a  shattered  hand  and  worse  casualties  besides  have  been  the 
result  of  such  an  accident.  To  obviate  it,  some  hunters  make 
use  of  a  ramrod,  usually  hung  by  a  string  from  the  neck,  but 
this  materially  increases  the  difficulty  of  loading.  The  bows 
and  arrows  which  the  Indians  use  in  running  buffalo  have 
many  advantages  over  firearms,  and  even  white  men  occasion- 
ally employ  them. 

The  danger  of  the  chase  arises  not  so  much  from  the 
onset  of  the  wounded  animal  as  from  the  nature  of  the 
ground  which  the  hunter  must  ride  over.  The  prairie  does 
not  always  present  a  smooth,  level,  and  uniform  surface; 
very  often  it  is  broken  with  hills  and  hollows  intersected  by 
ravines,  and  in  the  remoter  parts  studded  by  the  stiff  wild- 
sage  bushes.  The  most  formidable  obstructions,  however, 


354  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

are  the  burrows  of  wild  animals — wolves,  badgers,  and  par- 
ticularly prairie  dogs — with  whose  holes  the  ground  for  a 
very  great  extent  is  frequently  honeycombed.  In  the  blind- 
ness of  the  chase  the  hunter  rushes  over  it  unconscious  of 
danger;  his  horse,  at  full  career,  thrusts  his  leg  deep  into  one 
of  the  burrows;  the  bone  snaps,  the  rider  is  hurled  forward 
to  the  ground  and  probably  killed.  Yet  accidents  in  buffalo 
running  happen  less  frequently  than  one  would  suppose ;  in 
the  recklessness  of  the  chase,  the  hunter  enjoys  all  the  impu- 
nity of  a  drunken  man,  and  may  ride  in  safety  over  the  gul- 
lies and  declivities  where,  should  he  attempt  to  pass  in  his 
sober  senses,  he  would  infallibly  break  his  neck. 

The  method  of  "approaching,"  being  practiced  on  foot, 
has  many  advantages  over  that  o<f  "running;"  in  the  former, 
one  neither  breaks  down  his  horse  nor  endangers  his  own 
life;  instead  of  yielding  to  excitement  he  must  be  cool,  col- 
lected, and  watchful ;  he  must  understand  the  buffalo,  observe 
the  features  of  the  country  and  the  course  of  the  wind,  and 
be  well  skilled,  moreover,  in  using  the  rifle.  The  buffalo 
are  strange  animals ;  sometimes  they  are  so  stupid  and  infatu- 
ated that  a  man  may  walk  up  to  them  in  full  sight  on  the 
open  prairie,  and  even  shoot  several  of  their  number  before 
the  rest  will  think  it  necessary  to  retreat.  Again  at  another 
moment  they  will  be  so  shy  and  wary,  that  in  order  to 
approach  them  the  utmost  skill,  experience,  and  judgment 
are  necessary.  Kit  Carson,1  I  believe,  stands  pre-eminent  in 
running  buffalo;  in  approaching,  no  man  living  can  bear 
away  the  palm  from  Henry  Chatillon. 

To  resume  the  story:  After  Tete  Rouge  had  alarmed 
the  camp,  no  further  disturbance  occurred  during  the  night. 
The  Arapahoes  did  not  attempt  mischief,  or  if  they  did  the 
wakefulness  of  the  party  deterred  them  from  effecting  their 
purpose.  The  next  day  was  one  of  activity  and  excitement, 

iChristopher  ("Kit")  Carson,  a  famous  American  trapper  and  guide,  b. 
1809,  d.  1868. 


THE  CHASE  355 

for  about  ten  o'clock  the  men  in  advance  shouted  the  glad- 
dening cry  of  "Buffalo,  Buffalo!"  and  in  the  hollow  of  the 
prairie  just  below  us  a  band  of  bulls  were  grazing.  The 
temptation  was  irresistible,  and  Shaw  and  I  rode  down  upon 
them.  We  were  badly  mounted  on  our  traveling  horses,  but 
by  hard  lashing  we  overtook  them,  and  Shaw,  running  along- 
side of  a  bull,  shot  into  him  both  balls  of  his  double-barreled 
gun.  Looking  round  as  I  galloped  past,  I  saw  the  bull  in  his 
mortal  fury  rushing  again  and  again  upon  his  antagonist, 
whose  horse  constantly  leaped  aside  and  avoided  the  onset. 
My  chase  was  more  protracted,  but  at  length  I  ran  close  to 
the  bull  and  killed  him  with  my  pistols.  Cutting  off  the  tails 
of  our  victims  by  way  of  trophy,  we  rejoined  the  party  in 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  we  left  it.  Again  and  again 
that  morning  rang  out  the  same  welcome  cry  of. "Buffalo, 
buffalo!"  Every  few  moments,  in  the  broad  meadows  along 
the  river,  we  would  see  bands  of  bulls,  who,  raising  their 
shaggy  heads,  would  gaze  in  stupid  amazement  at  the 
approaching  horsemen,  and  then  breaking  into  a  clumsy  gal- 
lop would  file  off  in  a  long  line  across  the  trail  in  front, 
toward  the  rising  prairie  on  the  left.  At  noon  the  whole 
plain  before  us  was  alive  with  thousands  of  buffalo — bulls, 
cows  and  calves — all  moving  rapidly  as  we  drew  near ;  and 
far-off  beyond  the  river  the  swelling  prairie  was  darkened 
with  them  to  the  very  horizon.  The  party  was  in  gayer  spirits 
than  ever.  We  stopped  for  a  nooning  near  a  grove  of  trees 
by  the  river-side. 

"Tongues  and  hump  ribs  to-morrow,"  said  Shaw,  look- 
ing with  contempt  at  the  venison  steaks  which  Deslauriers 
placed  before  us.  Our  meal  finished,  we  lay  down  under 
a  temporary  awning  to  sleep.  A  shout  from  Henry  Cha- 
tillon  aroused  us,  and  we  saw  him  standing  on  the  cart- 
wheel stretching  his  tall  figure  to  its  full  height  while  he 
looked  toward  the  prairie  beyond  the  river.  Follow- 
ing the  direction  of  his  eyes  we  could  clearly  distinguish  a 


356  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

large  dark  object,  like  the  black  shadow  of  a  cloud,  passing 
rapidly  over  swell  after  swell  of  the  distant  plain;  behind 
it  followed  another  of  similar  appearance,  though  smaller. 
Its  motion  was  more  rapid,  and  it  drew  closer  and  closer  to 
the  first.  It  was  the  hunters  of  the  Arapahoe  camp  pursuing 
a  band  of  buffalo.  Shaw  and  I  hastily  sought  and  saddled 
our  best  horses,  and  went  plunging  through  sand  and  water 
to  the  farther  bank.  We  were  too  late.  The  hunters  had 
already  mingled  with  the  herd,  and  the  work  of  slaughter 
was  nearly  over.  When  we  reached  the  ground  we  found  it 
strewn  far  and  near  with  numberless  black  carcasses,  while 
the  remnants  of  the  herd,  scattered  in  all  directions,  were 
flying  away  in  terror,  and  the  Indians  still  rushing  in  pursuit. 
Many  of  the  hunters,  however,  remained  upon  the  spot,  and 
among  the  rest  was  our  yesterday's  acquaintance,  the  chief  of 
the  village.  He  had  alighted  by  the  side  of  a  cow,  into 
which  he  had  shot  five  or  six  arrows,  and  his  squaw,  who 
had  followed  him  on  horseback  to  the  hunt,  was  giving 
him  a  draught  of  water  out  of  a  canteen  purchased  or  plun- 
dered from  some  volunteer  soldier.  Recrossing  the  river  we 
overtook  the  party,  who  were  already  on  their  way. 

We  had  scarcely  gone  a  mile  when  an  imposing  spectacle 
presented  itself.  From  the  river  bank  on  the  right,  away 
over  the  swelling  prairie  on  the  left,  and  in  front  as  far  as 
we  could  see,  extended  one  vast  host  of  buffalo.  The  out- 
skirts of  the  herd  were  within  at  quarter  of  a  mile.  In  many 
parts  they  were  crowded  so  densely  together  that  in  the 
distance  their  rounded  backs  presented  a  surface  of  uniform 
blackness ;  but  elsewhere  they  were  more  scattered,  and  from 
amid  the  multitudes  rose  little  columns  of  dust  where  the 
buffalo  were  rolling  on  the  ground.  Here  and  there  a  great 
confusion  was  perceptible,  where  a  battle  was  going  forward 
among  the  bulls.  We  could  distinctly  see  them  rushing 
against  each  other,  and  hear  the  clattering  of  their  horns  and 
their  hoarse  bellowing.  Shaw  was  riding  at  some  distance  in 


THE  CHASE  357 


advance  with  Henry  Chatillon;  I  saw  him  stop  and  draw 
the  leather  covering  from  his  gun.  Indeed,  with  such  a  sight 
before  us,  but  one  thing  could  be  thought  of.  That  morn- 
ing I  had  used  pistols  in  the  chase.  I  had  now  a  mind  to 
try  the  virtue  of  a  gun.  Deslauriers  had  one,  and  I  rode  up 
to  the  side  of  the  cart;  there  he  sat  under  the  white  cover- 
ing, biting  his  pipe  between  his  teeth  and  grinning  with 
excitement. 

"Lend  me  your  gun,  Deslauriers,"  said  I. 

"Oui,  monsieur,  out/'  said  Deslauriers,  tugging  with 
might  and  main  to  stop  the  mule,  which  seemed  obstinately 
bent  on  going  forward.  Then  everything  but  his  moccasins 
disappeared  as  he  crawled  into  the  cart  and  pulled  at  the  gun 
to  extricate  it. 

"Is  it  loaded?"  I  asked. 

"Oui,  bien  charge;1  you'll  kill,  mon  bourgeois;  yes,  you'll 
kill — c 'est  un  bon  fusil."2 

I  handed  him  my  rifle  and  rode  forward  to  Shaw. 

"Are  you  ready?"  he  asked. 

"Come  on,"  said  I. 

"Keep  down  that  hollow,"  said  Henry,  "and  then  they 
won't  see  you  till  you  get  close  to  them." 

The  hollow  was  a  kind  of  ravine  very  wide  and  shallow ; 
it  ran  obliquely  toward  the  buffalo,  and  we  rode  at  a  canter 
along  the  bottom  until  it  became  too  shallow,  when  we  bent 
close  to  our  horses'  necks,  and  then  finding  that  it  could 
no  longer  conceal  us,  came  out  of  it  and  rode  directly  toward 
the  herd.  It  was  within  gunshot ;  before  its  outskirts  numer- 
ous grizzly  old  bulls  were  scattered,  holding  guard  over 
their  females.  They  glared  at  us  in  anger  and  astonishment, 
walked  toward  us  a  few  yards,  and  then  turning  slowly  round 
retreated  at  a  trot  which  afterward  broke  into  a  clumsy 
gallop.  In  an  instant  the  main  body  caught  the  alarm.  The 

'Weil  loaded. 
2It's  a  good  gun 


358  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

buffalo  began  to  crowd  away  from  the  point  toward  which 
we  were  approaching,  and  a  gap  was  opened  in  the  side  of 
the  herd.  We  entered  it,  still  restraining  our  excited  horses. 
Every  instant  the  tumult  was  thickening.  The  buffalo,  press- 
ing together  in  large  bodies,  crowded  away  from  us  on  every 
hand.  In  front  and  on  either  side  we  could  see  dark  columns 
and  masses,  half  hidden  by  clouds  of  dust,  rushing  along  in 
terror  and  confusion,  and  hear  the  tramp  and  clattering  of 
ten  thousand  hoofs.  That  countless  multitude  of  powerful 
brutes,  ignorant  of  their  own  strength,  were  flying  in  a  panic 
from  the  approach  of  two  feeble  horsemen.  To  remain  quiet 
longer  was  impossible. 

"Take  that  band  on  the  left,"  said  Shaw;  'Til  take  these 
in  front." 

He  sprang  off,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him.  A  heavy 
Indian  whip  was  fastened  by  a  band  to  my  wrist;  I  swung 
it  into  the  air  and  lashed  my  horse's  flank  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  arm.  Away  she  darted,  stretching  close  to 
the  ground.  I  could  see  nothing  but  a  cloud  of  dust  before 
me,  but  I  knew  that  it  concealed  a  band  of  many  hundreds 
of  buffalo.  In  a  moment  I  was  in  the  midst  of  the  cloud, 
half  suffocated  by  the  dust  and  stunned  by  the  trampling  of 
the  flying  herd;  but  I  was  drunk  with  the  chase  and  cared 
for  nothing  but  the  buffalo.  Very  soon  a  long  dark  mass 
became  visible,  looming  through  the  dust;  then  I  could  dis- 
tinguish each  bulky  carcass,  the  hoofs  flying  out  beneath,  the 
short  tails  held  rigidly  erect.  In  a  moment  I  was  so  close  that 
I  could  have  touched  them  with  my  gun.  Suddenly,  to  my 
utter  amazement,  the  hoofs  were  jerked  upward,  the  tails 
flourished  in  the  air,  and  amid  a  cloud  of  dust  the  buffalo 
seemed  to  sink  into  the  earth  before  me.  One  vivid  impres- 
sion of  that  instant  remains  upon  my  mind.  I  remember 
looking  down  upon  the  backs  of  several  buffalo  dimly  visible 
through  the  dust.  We  had  run  unawares  upon  a  ravine.  At 
that  moment  I  was  not  the  most  accurate  judge  of  depth  and 


THE  CHASE  359 

width,  but  when  I  passed  it  on  my  return,  I  found  it  about 
twelve  feet  deep  and  not  quite  twice  as  wide  at  the  bottom. 
It  was  impossible  to  stop;  I  would  have  done  so  gladly  if  I 
could;  so,  half  sliding,  half  plunging,  down  went  the  little 
mare.  I  believe  she  came  down  on  her  knees  in  the  loose 
sand  at  the  bottom ;  I  was  pitched  forward  violently  against 
her  neck  and  nearly  thrown  over  her  head  among  the  buffalo, 
who  amid  dust  and  confusion  came  tumbling  in  all  around. 
The  mare  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant  and  scrambling  like 
a  cat  up  the  opposite  side.  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  she 
would  have  fallen  back  and  crushed  me,  but  with  a  violent 
effort  she  clambered  out  and  gained  the  hard  prairie  above. 
Glancing  back  I  saw  the  huge  head  of  a  bull  clinging  as  it 
were  by  the  forefeet  at  the  edge  of  the  dusty  gulf.  At  length 
I  was  fairly  among  the  buffalo.  They  were  less  densely 
crowded  than  before,  and  I  could  see  nothing  but  bulls,  who 
always  run  at  the  rear  of  the  herd.  As  I  passed  amid  them 
they  would  lower  their  heads,  and  turning  as  they  ran, 
attempt  to  gore  my  horse;  but  as  they  were  already  at  full 
speed  there  was  no  force  in  their  onset,  and  as  Pauline  ran 
faster  than  they,  they  were  always  thrown  behind  her  in  the 
effort.  I  soon  began  to  distinguish  cows  amid  the  throng. 
One  just  in  front  of  me  seemed  to  my  liking,  and  I  pushed 
close  to  her  side.  Dropping  the  reins  I  fired,  holding  the 
muzzle  of  the  gun  within  a  foot  of  her  shoulder.  Quick  as 
lightning  she  sprang  at  Pauline;  the  little  mare  dodged  the 
attack,  and  I  lost  sight  of  the  wounded  animal  .amid  the 
tumultuous  crowd.  Immediately  after  I  selected  another, 
and  urging  forward  Pauline,  shot  into  her  both  pistols  in  suc- 
cession. For  a  while  I  kept  fier  in  view,  but  in  attempting 
to  load  my  gun,  lost  sight  of  her  also  in  the  confusion. 
Believing  her  to  be  mortally  wounded  and  unable  to  keep 
up  with  the  herd,  I  checked  my  horse.  The  crowd  rushed 
onward.  The  dust  and  tumult  passed  away,  and  on  the 
prairie,  far  behind  the  rest,  I  saw  a  solitary  buffalo  galloping 


360  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

heavily.  In  a  moment  I  and  my  victim  were  running  side  by 
side.  My  firearms  were  all  empty,  and  I  had  in  my  pouch 
nothing  but  rifle  bullets,  too  large  for  the  pistols  and  too 
small  for  the  gun.  I  loaded  the  latter,  however,  but  as  often 
as  I  leveled  it  to  fire,  the  little  bullets  would  roll  out  of  the 
muzzle  and  the  gun  returned  only  a  faint  report  like  a  squib, 
as  the  powder  harmlessly  exploded.  I  galloped  in  front  of 
the  buffalo  and  attempted  to  turn  her  back;  but  her  eyes 
glared,  her  mane  bristled,  and  lowering  her  head,  she  rushed 
at  me  with  astonishing  fierceness  and  activity.  Again  and 
again  I  rode  before  her,  and  again  and  again  she  repeated 
her  furious  charge.  But  little  Pauline  was  in  her  element. 
She  dodged  her  enemy  at  every  rush,  until  at  length  the  buf- 
falo stood  still,  exhausted  with  her  own  efforts ;  she  panted, 
and  her  tongue  hung  lolling  from  her  jaws. 

Riding  to  a  little  distance  I  alighted,  thinking  to  gather 
a  handful  of  dry  grass  to  serve  the  purpose  of  wadding,  and 
load  the  gun  at  my  leisure.  No  sooner  were  my  feet  on  the 
ground  than  the  buffalo  came  bounding  in  such  a  rage  toward 
me  that  I  jumped  back  again  into  the  saddle  with  all  pos- 
sible dispatch.  After  waiting  a  few  minutes  more,  I  made 
an  attempt  to  ride  up  and  stab  her  with  my  knife;  but  the 
experiment  proved  such  as  no  wise  man  would  repeat.  At 
length,  bethinking  me  of  the  fringes  at  the  seams  of  my 
buckskin  pantaloons,  I  jerked  off  a  few  of  them,  and  reload- 
ing the  gun,  forced  them  down  the  barrel  to  keep  the  bullet 
in  its  place;  then  approaching,  I  shot  the  wounded  buffalo 
through  the  heart.  Sinking  to  her  knees,  she  rolled  over  life- 
less on  the  prairie.  To  my  astonishment,  I  found  that 
instead  of  a  fat  cow  I  had  been  slaughtering  a  stout  yearling 
bull.  No  longer  wondering  at  the  fierceness  he  had  shown, 
I  opened  his  throat,  and,  cutting  out  his  tongue,  tied  it  at 
the  back  of  my  saddle.  My  mistake  was  one  which  a  more 
experienced  eye  than  mine  might  easily  make  in  the  dust 
and  confusion  of  such  a  chase. 


THE  CHASE  361 

Then  for  the  first  time  I  had  leisure  to  look  at  the  scene 
around  me.  The  prairie  in  front  was  darkened  with  the 
retreating  multitude,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  buffalo 
came  filing  up  in  endless  unbroken  columns  from  the  low 
plains  upon  the  river.  The  Arkansas  was  three  or  four 
miles  distant.  I  turned  and  moved  slowly  toward  it.  A 
long  time  passed  before,  far  down  in  the  distance,  I  dis- 
tinguished the  white  covering  of  the  cart  and  the  little  black 
specks  of  horsemen  before  and  behind  it.  Drawing  near,  I 
recognized  Shaw's  elegant  tunic,  the  red  flannel  shirt,  con- 
spicuous far  off.  I  overtook  the  party,  and  asked  him  what 
success  he  had  met  with.  He  had  assailed  a  fat  cow,  shot  her 
with  two  bullets,  and  mortally  wounded  her.  But  neither 
of  us  were  prepared  for  the  chase  that  afternoon,  and  Shaw, 
like  myself,  had  no  spare  bullets  in  his  pouch;  so  he  aban- 
doned the  disabled  animal  to  Henry  Chatillon,  who  followed, 
dispatched  her  with  his  rifle,  and  loaded  his  horse  with  her 
meat. 

We  encamped  close  to  the  river.  The  night  was  dark, 
and  as  we  lay  down  we  could  hear  mingled  with  the  howl- 
ings  of  wolves  the  hoarse  bellowing  of  the  buffalo,  like  the 
ocean  beating  upon  a  distant  coast. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   BUFFALO   CAMP 

No  one  in  the  camp  was  more  active  than  Jim  Gurney, 
and  no  one  half  so  lazy  as  Ellis.  Between  these  two  there 
was  a  great  antipathy.  Ellis  never  stirred  in  the  morning 
until  he  was  compelled  to,  but  Jim  was  always  on  his  feet 
before  daybreak;  and  this  morning  as  usual  the  sound  of  his 
voice  awakened  the  party. 

"Get  up,  you  booby!  up  with  you  now,  you're  fit  for 
nothing  but  eating  and  sleeping.  Stop  your  grumbling  and 
come  out  of  that  buffalo  robe,  or  I'll  pull  it  off  for  you." 

Jim's  words  were  interspersed  with  numerous  expletives, 
which  gave  them  great  additional  effect.  Ellis  drawled  out 
something  in  a  nasal  tone  from  among  the  folds  of  his  buffalo 
robe ;  then  slowly  disengaged  himself,  rose  into  sitting  pos- 
ture, stretched  his  long  arms,  yawned  hideously,  and  finally, 
raising  his  tall  person  erect,  stood  staring  round  him  to  all 
the  four  quarters  of  the  horizon.  Deslaurier's  fire  was  soon 
blazing,  and  the  horses  and  mules,  loosened  from  their  pick- 
ets, were  feeding  in  the  neighboring  meadow.  When  we  sat 
down  to  breakfast  the  prairie  was  still  in  the  dusky  light  of 
morning ;  and  as  the  sun  rose  we  were  mounted  and  on  our 
way  again. 

"A  white  buffalo !"  exclaimed  Munroe. 

"I'll  have  that  fellow,"  said  Shaw,  "if  I  run  my  horse  to 
death  after  him." 

He  threw  the  cover  of  his  gun  to  Deslauriers  and  gal- 
loped out  upon  the  prairie. 

"Stop,  Mr.  Shaw,  stop!"  called  out  Henry  Chatillon, 
"you'll  run  down  your  horse  for  nothing;  it's  only  a 
white  ox." 

362 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  363 


But  Shaw  was  already  out  of  hearing.  The  ox,  who  had 
no  doubt  strayed  away  from  some  of  the  government  wagon 
trains,  was  standing  beneath  some  low1  hills  which  bounded 
the  plain  in  the  distance.  Not  far  from  him  a  band  of  veri- 
table buffalo  bulls  were  grazing;  and  startled  at  Shaw's 
approach,  they  all  broke  into  a  run,  and  went  scrambling  up 
the  hillsides  to  gain  the  high  prairie  above.  One  of  them  in 
his  haste  and  terror  involved  himself  in  a  fatal  catastrophe. 
Along  the  foot  of  the  hills  was  a  narrow  strip  of  deep  marshy 
soil,  into  which  the  bull  plunged  and  hopelessly  entangled 
himself.  We  all  rode  up  to  the  spot.  The  huge  carcass  was 
half  sunk  in  the  mud,  which  flowed  to  his  very  chin,  and  his 
shaggy  mane  was  outspread  upon  the  surface.  As  we  came 
near  the  bull  began  to  struggle  with  convulsive  strength;  he 
writhed  to  and  fro,  and  in  the  energy  of  his  fright  and  desper- 
ation would  lift  himself  for  a  moment  half  out  of  the 
slough,  while  the  reluctant  mire  returned  a  sucking  sound  as 
he  strained  to  drag  his  limbs  from  its  tenacious  depths.  We 
stimulated  his  exertions  by  getting  behind  him  and  twisting 
his  tail;  nothing  would  do.  There  was  clearly  no  hope  for 
him.  After  every  effort  his  heaving  sides  were  more  deeply 
imbedded  and  the  mire  almost  overflowed  his  nostrils ;  he  lay 
still  at  length,  and  looking  round  at  us  with  a  furious  eye, 
seemed  to  resign  himself  to  his  fate.  Ellis  slowly  dis- 
mounted, and  deliberately  leveling  his  boasted  yager,  shot  the 
old  bull  through  the  heart;  then  he  lazily  climbed  back 
again  to  his  seat,  pluming  himself  no  doubt  on  having  actu- 
ally killed  a  buffalo.  That  day  the  invincible  yager  drew 
blood  for  the  first  and  last  time  during  the  whole  journey. 

The  morning  was  a  bright  and  gay  one,  and  the  air  so 
clear  that  on  the  farthest  horizon  the  outline  of  the  pale 
blue  prairie  was  sharply  drawn  against  the  sky.  Shaw  felt 
in  the  mood  for  hunting;  he  rode  in  advance  of  the  party, 
and  before  long  we  saw  a  file  of  bulls  galloping  at  full  speed 
upon  a  vast  green  swell  of  the  prairie  at  some  distance  in 


364  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

front.  Shaw  came  scouring  along  behind  them,  arrayed  in 
his  red  shirt,  which  looked  very  well  in  the  distance ;  he 
gained  fast  on  the  fugitives,  and  as  the  foremost  bull  was 
disappearing  behind  the  summit  of  the  swell,  we  saw  him  in 
the  act  of  assailing  the  hindmost;  a  smoke  sprang  from  the 
muzzle  of  his  gun,  and  floated  away  before  the  wind  like 
a  little  white  cloud;  the  bull  turned  upon  him,  and  just  then 
the  rising  ground  concealed  them  both  from  view. 

We  were  moving  forward  until  about  noon,  when  we 
stopped  by  the  side  of  the  Arkansas.  At  that  moment  Shaw 
appeared  riding  slowly  down  the  side  of  a  distant  hill ;  his 
horse  was  tired  'and  jaded,  and  when  he  threw  his  saddle 
upon  the  ground,  I  observed  that  the  tails  of  two  bulls  were 
dangling  behind  it.  No  sooner  were  the  horses  turned  loose 
to  feed  than  Henry,  asking  Munroe  to  go  with  him,  took  his 
rifle  and  walked  quietly  away.  Shaw,  Tete  Rouge,  and  I 
sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  cart  to  discuss  the  dinner  which 
Deslauriers  placed  before  us;  we  had  scarcely  finished  when 
we  saw  Munroe  walking  toward  us  along  the  river  bank. 
Henry,  he  said,  had  killed  four  fat  cows,  and  had  sent  him 
back  for  horses  to  bring  in  the  meat.  Shaw  took  a  horse 
for  himself  and  another  for  Henry,  and  he  and  Munroe  left 
the  camp  together.  After  a  short  absence  all  three  of  them 
came  back,  their  horses  loaded  with  the  choicest  parts  of  the 
meat;  we  kept  two  of  the  cows  for  ourselves  and  gave  the 
others  to  Munroe  and  his  companions.  Deslauriers  seated 
himself  on  the  grass  before  the  pile  of  meat,  and  worked 
industriously  for  some  time  to  cut  it  into  thin  broad  sheets 
for  drying.  This  is  no  easy  matter,  but  Deslauriers  had  all 
the  skill  of  an  Indian  squaw.  Long  before  night  cords  of 
raw  hide  were  stretched  around  the  camp,  and  the  meat 
was  hung  upon  them  to  dry  in  the  sunshine  and  pure  air  of 
the  prairie.  Our  California  comoanions  were  less  succes^- 
fel  at  the  work;  but  they  accomplished  ft  after  their  own 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  365 

fashion,  and  their  side  of  the  camp  was  soon  garnished  in 
the  same  manner  as  our  own. 

We  meant  to  remain  at  this  place  long  enough  to  pre- 
pare provisions  for  our  journey  to  the  frontier,  which  as  we 
supposed  might  occupy  about  a  month.  Had  the  distance 
been  twice  as  great  and  the  party  ten  times  as  large,  the 
unerring  rifle  of  Henry  Chatillon  would  have  supplied  meat 
enough  for  the  whole  within  two  days;  we  were  obliged  to 
remain,  however,  until  it  should  be  dry  enough  for  trans- 
portation ;  so  we  erected  our  tent  and  made  the  other 
arrangements  for  a  permanent  camp.  The  California  men, 
who  had  no  such  shelter,  contented  themselves  with  arrang- 
ing their  packs  on  the  grass  around  their  fire.  In  the  mean- 
time we  had  nothing  to  do  but  amuse  ourselves.  Our  tent 
was  within  a  rod  of  the  river,  if  the  broad  sand-beds,  with 
a  scanty  stream  of  water  coursing  here  and  there  along  their 
surface,  deserve  to  be  dignified  with  the  name  of  river.  The 
vast  flat  plains  on  either  side  were  almost  on  a  level  with  the 
sand-beds,  and  they  were  bounded  in  the  distance  by  low, 
monotonous  hills,  parallel  to  the  course  of  the  Arkansas.  All 
was  one  expanse  of  grass ;  there  was  no  wood  in  view,  except 
some  trees  and  stunted  bushes  upon  two  islands  which  rose 
from  amid  the  wet  sands  of  the  river.  Yet  far  from  being 
dull  and  tame  this  boundless  scene  was  often  a  wild  and  ani- 
mated one;  for  twice  a  day,  at  sunrise  and  at  noon,  the  buf- 
falo came  issuing  from  the  hills,  slowly  advancing  in  their 
grave  processions  to  drink  at  the  river.  All  our  amusements 
were  at  their  expense.  Except  an  elephant,  I  have  seen  no 
animal  that  can  surpass  a  buffalo  bull  in  size  and  strength, 
and  the  world  may  be  searched  in  vain  to  find  anything  of  a 
more  ugly  and  ferocious  aspect.  At  first  sight  of  him  every 
feeling  of  sympathy  vanishes ;  no  man  who  has  not  experi- 
enced it  can  understand  with  what  keen  relish  one  inflicts  his 
death  wound,  with  what  profound  contentment  of  mind  he 
beholds  him  fall.  The  cows  are  much  smaller  and  of  a 


366  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

gentler  appearance,  as  becomes  their  sex.  While  in  this  camp 
we  forbore  to  attack  them,  leaving  to  Henry  Chatillon,  who 
could  better  judge  their  fatness  and  good  quality,  the  task 
of  killing  such  as  we  wanted  for  use;  but  against  the  bulls 
we  waged  an  unrelenting  war.  Thousands  of  them  might  be 
slaughtered  without  causing  any  detriment  to  the  species,  for 
their  numbers  greatly  exceed  those  of  the  cows;  it  is  the 
hides  of  the  latter  alone  which  are  used  for  the  purpose  of 
commerce  and  for  making  the  lodges  of  the  Indians;  and 
the  destruction  among  them  is  therefore  altogether  dispropor- 
tioned. 

Our  horses  were  tired,  and  we  now  usually  hunted  on 
foot.  The  wide,  flat  sand-beds  of  the  Arkansas,  as  the  reader 
will  remember,  lay  close  by  the  side  of  our  camp.  While  we 
were  lying  on  the  grass  after  dinner,  smoking,  conversing, 
or  laughing  at  Tete  Rouge,  one  of  us  would  look  up  and 
observe,  far  out  on  the  plains  beyond  the  river,  certain  black 
objects  slowly  approaching.  He  would  inhale  a  parting  whiff 
from  the  pipe,  then  rising  lazily,  take  his  rifle,  which  leaned 
against  the  cart,  throw  over  his  shoulder  the  strap  of  his 
pouch  and  powder-horn,  and  with  his  moccasins  in  his  hand 
walk  quietly  across  the  sand  toward  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river.  This  was  very  easy;  for  though  the  sands  were  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  the  water  was  nowhere  more  than 
two  feet  deep.  The  farther  bank  was  about  four  or  five  feet 
high,  and  quite  perpendicular,  being  cut  away  by  the  water 
in  spring.  Tall  grass  grew  along  its  edge.  Putting  it  aside 
with  his  hand,  and  cautiously  looking  through  it,  the  hunter 
can  discern  the  huge  shaggy  back  of  the  buffalo  slowly  sway- 
ing to  and  fro,  as  with  his  clumsy  swinging  gait  he  advances 
toward  the  water.  The  buffalo  have  regular  paths  by  which 
they  come  down  to  drink.  Seeing  at  a  glance  along  which 
of  these  his  intended  victim  is  moving,  the  hunter  crouches 
under  the  bank  within  fifteen  or  twenty  yards,  it  may  be,  of 
the  point  where  the  path  enters  the  river.  Here  he  sits  down 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  367 

quietly  on  the  sand.  Listening  intently,  he  hears  the  heavy 
monotonous  tread  of  the  approaching  bull.  The  moment 
after  he  sees  a  motion  among  the  long  weeds  and  grass  just 
at  the  spot  where  the  path  is  channeled  through  the  bank. 
An  enormous  black  head  is  thrust  out,  the  horns  just  visible 
amid  the  mass  of  tangled  mane.  Half  sliding,  half  plung- 
ing, down  comes  the  buffalo  upon  the  river-bed  below.  He 
steps  -out  in  full  sight  upon  the  sands.  Just  before  him  a 
runnel  of  water  is  gliding,  and  he  bends  his  head  to  drink. 
You  may  hear  the  water  as  it  gurgles  down  his  capacious 
throat.  He  raises  his  head,  and  the  drops  trickle  from  his 
wet  beard.  He  stands  with  an  air  of  stupid  abstraction, 
unconscious  of  the  lurking  danger.  Noiselessly  the  hunter 
cocks  his  rifle.  As  he  sits  upon  the  sand,  his  knee  is  raised, 
and  his  elbow  rests  upon  it,  that  he  may  level  his  heavy 
weapon  with  a  steadier  aim.  The  stock  is  at  his  shoulder; 
his  eye  ranges  along  the  barrel.  Still  he  is  in  no  haste  to  fire. 
The  bull,  with  slow  deliberation,  begins  his  march  over  the 
sands  to  the  other  side.  He  advances  his  fore-leg,  and 
exposes  to  view  a  small  spot,  denuded  of  hair,  just  behind  the 
point  of  his  shoulder ;  upon  this  the  hunter  brings  the  sight 
of  his  rifle  to  bear;  lightly  and  delicately  his  finger  presses 
upon  the  hair-trigger.  Quick  as  thought  the  spiteful  crack 
of  the  rifle  responds  to  his  slight  touch,  and  instantly  in  the 
middle  of  the  bare  spot  appears  a  small  red  dot.  The  buffalo 
shivers ;  death  has  overtaken  him,  he  cannot  tell  from  whence ; 
still  he  does  not  fall,  but  walks  heavily  forward,  as  if  noth- 
ing had  happened.  Yet  before  he  has  advanced  far  out 
upon  the  sand,  you  see  him  stop;  he  totters;  his  knees  bend 
under  him,  and  his  head  sinks  forward  to  the  ground.  Then 
his  whole  vast  bulk  sways  to  one  side ;  he  rolls  over  on  the 
sand,  and  dies  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  struggle. 

Waylaying  the  buffalo  in  this  manner,  and  shooting  them 
as  they  come  to  water,  is  the  easiest  and  laziest  method  of 
hunting  them.  They  may  also  be  approached  by  crawling 


368  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

up  ravines,  or  behind  hills,  or  even  over  the  open  prairie. 
This  is  often  surprisingly  easy;  but  at  other  times  it  requires 
the  utmost  skill  of  the  most  experienced  hunter.  Henry 
Chatillon  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  strength  and  hardi- 
hood; but  I  have  seen  him  return  to  camp  quite  exhausted 
with  his  efforts,  his  limbs  scratched  and  wounded,  and  his 
buckskin  dress  stuck  full  of  the  thorns  of  the  prickly-pear 
among  which  he  had  been  crawling.  Sometimes  he  would 
lay  flat  upon  his  face,  and  drag  himself  along  in  this  position 
for  many  rods  together. 

On  the  second  day  of  our  stay  at  this  place,  Henry 
went  out  'for  an  afternoon  hunt.  Shaw  and  I  remained  in 
camp  until,  observing  some  bulls  approaching  the  water 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  river,  we  crossed  over  to  attack 
them.  They  were  so  near,  however,  that  before  we  could 
get  under  cover  of  the  bank  our  appearance  as  we  walked 
over  the  sands  alarmed  them.  Turning  round  before  coming 
within  gunshot,  they  began  to  move  off  to  the  right  in  a 
direction  parallel  to  the  river.  I  climbed  up  the  bank  and 
ran  after  them.  They  were  walking  swiftly,  and  before  I 
could  come  within  gunshot  distance  they  slowly  wheeled 
about  and  faced  toward  me.  Before  they  had  turned  far 
enough  to  see  me  I  had  fallen  flat  on  my  face.  For  a 
moment  they  stood  and  stared  at  the  strange  object  upon  the 
grass;  then  turning  away,  again  they  walked  on  as  before; 
and  I,  rising  immediately,  ran  once  more  in  pursuit.  Again 
they  wheeled  about,  and  again  I  fell  prostrate.  Repeating 
this  three  or  four  times,  I  came  at  length  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  fugitives,  and  as  I  saw  them  turning  again  I  sat 
down  and  leveled  my  rifle.  The  one  in  the  center  was  the 
largest  I  had  ever  seen.  I  shot  him  behind  the  shoulder.  His 
two  companions  ran  off.  He  attempted  to  follow,  but  soon 
came  to  a  stand,  and  at  length  lay  down  as  quietly  as  an  ox 
chewing  the  cud.  Cautiously  approaching  him,  I  saw  by  his 
dull  and  jellylike  eye  that  he  was  dead. 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  369 


When  I  began  the  chase,  the  prairie  was  almost  tenant- 
less;  but  a  great  multitude  of  buffalo  had  suddenly  thronged 
upon  it,  and  looking  up,  I  saw  within  fifty  rods  a  heavy, 
dark  column  stretching  to  the  right  and  left  as  far  as  I 
could  see.  I  walked  toward  them.  My  approach  did  not 
alarm  them  in  the  least.  The  column  itself  consisted  entirely 
of  cows  and  calves,  but  a  great  many  old  bulls  were  ranging 
about  the  prairie  on  its  flank,  and  as  I  drew  near  they  faced 
toward  me  with  such  a  shaggy  and  ferocious  look  that  I 
thought  it  best  to  proceed  no  farther.  Indeed  I  was  already 
within  close  rifle-shot  of  the  column,  and  I  sat  down  on  the 
ground  to  watch  their  movements.  Sometimes  the  whole 
would  stand  still,  their  heads  all  facing  one  way;  then  they 
would  trot  forward,  as  if  by  a  common  impulse,  their  hoofs 
and  horns  clattering  together  as  they  moved.  I  soon  began 
to  hear  at  a  distance  on  the  left  the  sharp  reports  of  a  rifle, 
again  and  again  repeated ;  and  not  long  after,  dull  and  heavy 
sounds  succeeded,  which  I  recognized  as  the  familiar  voice 
of  Shaw's  double-barreled  gun.  When  Henry's  rifle  was  at 
work  there  was  always  meat  to  be  brought  in.  I  went  back 
across  the  river  for  a  horse,  and  returning,  reached  the  spot 
where  the  hunters  were  standing.  The  buffalo  were  visible 
on  the  distant  prairie.  The  living  had  retreated  from  the 
ground,  but  ten  or  twelve  carcasses  were  scattered  in  various 
directions.  Henry,  knife  in  hand,  was  stooping  over  a  dead 
cow,  cutting  away  the  best  and  fattest  of  the  meat. 

When  Shaw  left  me  he  had  walked  down  for  some  dis- 
tance under  the  river  bank  to  find  another  bull.  At  length 
he  saw  the  plains  covered  with  the  host  of  buffalo,  and  soon 
after  heard  the  crack  of  Henry's  rifle.  Ascending  the  bank, 
he  crawled  through  the  grass,  which  for  a  rod  or  two  from 
the  river  was  very  high  and  rank.  He  had  not  crawled  far 
before  to  his  astonishment  he  saw  Henry  standing  erect  upon 
the  prairie,  almost  surrounded  by  the  buffalo.  Henry  was 
in  his  appropriate  element.  Nelson,  on  the  deck  of  the 


370  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

Victory*  hardly  felt  a  prouder  sense  of  mastery  than  he. 
Quite  unconscious  that  any  one  was  looking  at  him,  he  stood 
at  the  full  height  of  his  tall,  strong  figure,  one  hand  resting 
upon  his  side,  and  the  other  arm  leaning  carelessly  on  the 
muzzle  of  his  rifle.  His  eyes  were  ranging  over  the  singular 
assemblage  around  him.  Now  and  then  he  would  select  such 
a  cow  as  suited  him,  level  his  rifle,  and  shoot  her  dead;  then 
quietly  reloading,  he  would  resume  his  former  position.  The 
buffalo  seemed  no  more  to  regard  his  presence  than  if  he 
were  one  of  themselves ;  the  bulls  were  bellowing  and  butting 
at  each  other,  or  else  rolling  about  in  the  dust.  A  group  of 
buffalo  would  gather  about  the  carcass  of  a  dead  cow,  snuff- 
ing at  her  wounds;  and  sometimes  they  would  come  behind 
those  that  had  not  yet  fallen,  and  endeavor  to  push  them 
from  the  spot.  Now  and  then  some  old  bull  would  face 
toward  Henry  with  an  air  of  stupid  amazement,  but  none 
seemed  inclined  to  attack  or  fly  from  him.  For  some 
time  Shaw  lay  among  the  grass,  looking  in  surprise  at  this 
extraordinary  sight;  at  length  he  crawled  cautiously  forward, 
and  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to  Henry,  who  told  him  to  rise 
and  come  on.  Still  the  buffalo  showed  no  sign  of  fear;  they 
remained  gathered  about  their  dead  companions.  Henry 
had  already  killed  as  many  cows  as  we  wanted  for  use,  and 
Shaw,  kneeling  behind  one  of  the  carcasses,  shot  five  bulls 
before  the  rest  thought  it  necessary  to  disperse. 

The  frequent  stupidity  and  infatuation  of  the  buffalo 
seems  the  more  remarkable  from  the  contrast  it  offers  to  their 
wildness  and  wariness  at  other  times.  Henry  knew  all  their 
peculiarities;  he  had  studied  them  as  a  scholar  studies  his 
books,  and  he  derived  quite  as  much  pleasure  from  the  occu- 
pation. The  buffalo  were  a  kind  of  companions  to  him,  and, 
as  he  said,  he  never  felt  alone  when  they  were  about  him. 
He  took  great  pride  in  his  skill  in  hunting.  Henry  was  one 

!The  Victory  was  Lord  Nelson's  flagship  at  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  October 
21,  1805. 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  371 

of  the  most  modest  of  men ;  yet  in  the  simplicity  and  frank- 
ness of  his  character,  it  was  quite  clear  that  he  looked  upon 
his  pre-eminence  in  this  respect  as  a  thing  too  palpable  and 
well  established  ever  to  be  disputed.  But  whatever  may 
have  been  his  estimate  of  his  own  skill,  it  was  rather  below 
than  above  that  which  others  placed  upon  it.  The  only 
time  that  I  ever  saw  a  shade  of  scorn  darken  his  face  was 
when  two  volunteer  soldiers,  who  had  just  killed  a  buffalo  for 
the  first  time,  undertook  to  instruct  him  as  to  the  best  method 
of  "approaching."  To  borrow  an  illustration  from  an  oppo- 
site side  of  life,  an'  Eton1  boy  might  as  well  have  sought  to 
enlighten  Porson2  on  the  formation  of  a  Greek  verb,  or  a 
Fleet  Street3  shopkeeper  to  instruct  Chesterfield4  concerning 
a  point  of  etiquette.  Henry  always  seemed  to  think  that  he 
had  a  sort  of  prescriptive  right  to  the  buffalo,  and  to  look 
upon  them  as  something  belonging  peculiarly  to  himself. 
Nothing  excited  his  indignation  so  much  as  any  wanton 
destruction  committed  among  the  cows,  and  in  his  view  shoot- 
ing a  calf  was  a  cardinal  sin. 

Henry  Chatillon  and  Tete  Rouge  were  of  the  same  age; 
that  is,  about  thirty.  Henry  was  twice  as  large,  and  fully 
six  times  as  strong  as  Tete  Rouge.  Henry's  face  was  rough- 
ened by  winds  and  storms;  Tete  Rouge's  was  bloated  by 
sherry  cobblers  and  brandy  toddy.  Henry  talked  of  Indians 
and  buffalo;  Tete  Rouge  of  theaters  and  oyster  cellars. 
Henry  had  led  a  life  of  hardship  and  privation ;  Tete  Rouge 
never  had  a  whim  which  he  would  not  gratify  at  the  first 
moment  he  was  able.  Henry  moreover  was  the  most  disin- 
terested man  I  ever  saw ;  while  Tete  Rouge,  though  equally 
good-natured  in  his  way,  cared  for  nobody  but  himself.  Yet 
we  would  not  have  lost  him  on  any  account;  he  admirably 

iEton  College,  a  famous  English  public  school,  founded  by  Henry  VI.  in  1440. 

'Richard  Porson,  a  famous  Greek  scholar,  b.  1759,  d.  1808. 

3Fleet  Street,  London,  long  famous  on  account  of  the  Fleet  Prison  for  debtors, 
now  a  busy  commercial  thoroughfare. 

4The  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  b.  1694,  d.  1773,  whose  Letters  to  his  Son,  published 
in.  1774,  form  the  most  famous  exposition  of  the  conduct  proper  for  a  gentleman. 


372  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

served  the  purpose  of  a  jester  in  a  feudal  castle;  our  camp 
would  have  been  lifeless  without  him.  For  the  past  week  he 
had  fattened  in  a  most  amazing  manner;  and  indeed  this 
was  not  at  all  surprising,  since  his  appetite  was  most  inordi- 
nate. He  was  eating  from  morning  till  night;  half  the  time 
he  would  be  at  work  cooking  some  private  repast  for  himself, 
and  he  paid  a  visit  to  the  coffee-pot  eight  or  ten  times  a  day. 
His  rueful  and  disconsolate  face  became  jovial  and  rubicund, 
his  eyes  stood  out  like  a  lobster's,  and  his  spirits,  which  before 
were  sunk  to  the  depths  of  despondency,  were  now  elated  in 
proportion;  all  day  he  was  singing,  whistling,  laughing,  and 
telling  stories.  Being  mortally  afraid  of  Jim  Gurney,  he 
kept  close  in  the  neighborhood  of  our  tent.  As  he  had  seen 
an  abundance  of  low  dissipated  life,  and  had  a  considerable 
fund  of  humor,  his  anecdotes  were  extremely  amusing,  espe- 
cially since  he  never  hesitated  to  place  himself  in  a  ludicrous 
point  of  view,  provided  he  could  raise  a  laugh  by  doing  so. 
Tete  Rouge,  however,  was  sometimes  rather  troublesome; 
he  had  an  inveterate  habit  of  pilfering  provisions  at  all  times 
of  the  day.  He  set  ridicule  at  utter  defiance,  and  being 
without  a  particle  of  self-respect,  he  would  never  have  given 
over  his  tricks,  even  if  they  had  drawn  upon  him  the  scorn 
of  the  whole  party.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  something  worse 
than  laughter  fell  to  his  share;  on  these  occasions  he  would 
exhibit  much  contrition,  but  half  an  hour  after  we  would 
generally  observe  him  stealing  round  to  the  box  at  the  back 
of  the  cart,  and  slyly  making  off  with  the  provisions  which 
Deslauriers  had  laid  by  for  supper.  He  was  very  fond  of 
smoking;  but  having  no  tobacco  of  his  own,  we  used  to  pro- 
vide him  with  as  much  as  he  wanted,  a  small  piece  at  a  time. 
At  first  wre  gave  him  half  a  pound  together,  but  this  experi- 
ment proved  an  entire  failure,  for  he  invariably  lost  not  only 
the  tobacco,  but  the  knife  intrusted  to  him  for  cutting  it,  and 
a  few  minutes  after  he  would  come  to  us  with  many  apologies 
and  beg  for  more. 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  373 

We  had  been  two  days  at  this  camp,  and  some  of  the 
meat  was  nearly  fit  for  transportation,  when  a  storm  came 
suddenly  upon  us.  About  sunset  the  whole  sky  grew  as  black 
as  ink,  and  the  long  grass  at  the  river's  edge  bent  and  rose 
mournfully  with  the  first  gusts  of  the  approaching  hurricane. 
Munroe  and  his  two  companions  brought  their  guns  and 
placed  them  under  cover  of  our  tent.  Having  no  shelter 
for  themselves,  they  built  a  fire  of  driftwood  that  might  have 
defied  a  cataract,  and  wrapped  in  their  buffalo  robes,  sat  on 
the  ground  around  it  to  bide  the  fury  of  the  storm.  Des- 
lauriers  ensconced  himself  under  the  cover  of  the  cart. 
Shaw  and  I,  together  with  Henry  and  Tete  Rouge,  crowded 
into  the  little  tent;  but  first  of  all  the  dried  meat  was  piled 
together,  and  well  protected  by  buffalo  robes  pinned  firmly 
to  the  ground.  About  nine  o'clock  the  storm  broke,  amid 
absolute  darkness ;  it  blew  a  gale,  and  torrents  of  rain  roared 
over  the  boundless  expanse  of  open  prairie.  Our  tent  was 
filled  with  mist  and  spray,  beating  through  the  canvas  and 
saturating  everything  within.  We  could  only  distinguish 
each  other  at  short  intervals  by  the  dazzling  flash  of  lightning, 
which  displayed  the  whole  waste  around  us  writh  its  momen- 
tary glare.  We  had  our  fears  for  the  tent;  but  for  an  hour 
or  two  it  stood  fast,  until  at  length  the  cap  gave  way  before 
a  furious  blast;  the  pole  tore  through  the  top,  and  in  an 
instant  we  were  half  suffocated  by  the  cold  and  dripping  folds 
of  the  canvas,  which  fell  down  upon  us.  Seizing  upon  our 
guns,  we  placed  them  erect,  in  order  to  lift  the  saturated  cloth 
above  our  heads.  In  this  agreeable  situation,  involved  among 
wet  blankets  and  buffalo  robes,  we  spent  several  hours  of  the 
night,  during  which  the  storm  would  not  abate  for  a  moment, 
but  pelted  down  above  our  heads  with  merciless  fury.  Before 
long  the  ground  beneath  us  became  soaked  with  moisture,  and 
the  water  gathered  there  in  a  pool  two  or  three  inches  deep ; 
so  that  for  a  considerable  part  of  the  night  we  were  partially 
immersed  in  a  cold  bath.  In  spite  of  all  this,  Tete  Rouge's 


374  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

flow  of  spirits  did  not  desert  him  for  an  instant;  he  laughed, 
whistled,  and  sung  in  defiance  of  the  storm,  and  that  night 
he  paid  off  the  long  arrears  of  ridicule  which  he  owed  us. 
While  we  lay  in  silence,  enduring  the  infliction  with  what 
philosophy  we  could  muster,  Tete  Rouge,  who  was  intoxi- 
cated with  animal  spirits,  was  cracking  jokes  at  pur  expense 
by  the  hour  together.  At  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
"preferring  the  tyranny  of  the  open  night"1  to  such  a  wretched 
shelter,  we  crawled  out  from  beneath  the  fallen  canvas.  The 
wind  had  abated,  but  the  rain  fell  steadily.  The  fire  of  the 
California  men  still  blazed  amid  the  darkness,  and  WTC  joined 
them  as  they  sat  around  it.  We  made  ready  some  hot  coffee 
by  way  of  refreshment;  but  when  some  of  the  party  sought 
to  replenish  their  cups,  it  was  found  that  Tete  Rouge,  having 
disposed  of  his  own  share,  had  privately  abstracted  the  coffee- 
pot and  drank  up  the  rest  of  the  contents  out  of  the  spout. 

In  the  morning,  to  our  great  joy,  an  unclouded  sun  rose 
upon  the  prairie.  We  presented  rather  a  laughable  appear- 
ance, for  the  cold  and  clammy  buckskin,  saturated  with  water, 
clung  fast  to  our  limbs;  the  light  wind  and  warm  sunshine 
soon  dried  them  again,  and  then  we  were  all  incased  in  armor 
of  intolerable  rigidity.  Roaming  all  day  over  the  prairie 
and  shooting  two  or  three  bulls  were  scarcely  enough  to 
restore  the  stiffened  leather  to  its  usual  pliancy. 

Besides  Henry  Chatillon,  Shaw  and  I  were  the  only 
hunters  in  the  party.  Munroe  this  morning  made  an  attempt 
to  run  a  buffalo,  but  his  horse  could  not  come  up  to  the 
game.  Shaw  went  out  with  him,  and  being  better  mounted 
soon  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  herd.  Seeing  nothing 
but  cows  and  calves  around  him,  he  checked  his  horse.  An 
old  bull  came  galloping  on  the  open  prairie  at  some  distance 
behind,  and  turning,  Shaw  rode  across  his  path,  leveling  his 
gun  as  he  passed,  and  shooting  him  through  the  shoulder  into 

^rom  Shakspere's  King  Lear,  Act  III,  Scene  4,  1.  2. 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  375 

the  heart.  The  heavy  bullets  of  Shaw's  double-barreled  gun 
made  wild  work  wherever  they  struck. 

A  great  flock  of  buzzards  were  usually  soaring  about  a 
few  trees  that  stood  on  the  island  just  below  our  camp. 
Throughout  the  whole  of  yesterday  we  had  noticed  an  eagle 
among  them;  to-day  he  was  still  there;  and  Tete  Rouge, 
declaring  that  he  would  kill  the  bird  of  America,  borrowed 
Deslauriers's  gun  and  set  out  on  his  unpatriotic  mission.  As 
might  have  been  expected,  the  eagle  suffered  no  great  harm 
at  his  hands.  He  soon  returned,  saying  that  he  could  not 
find  him,  but  had  shot  a  buzzard  instead.  Being  required 
to  produce  the  bird  in  proof  of  his  assertion,  he  said  he 
believed  that  he  was  not  quite  dead,  but  he  must  be  hurt, 
from  the  swiftness  with  which  he  flew  off. 

"If  you  want,"  said  Tete  Rouge,  "I'll  go  and  get  one  of 
his  feathers;  I  knocked  off  plenty  of  them  when  I  shot  him." 

Just  opposite  our  camp  was  another  island  covered  with 
bushes,  and  behind  it  was  a  deep  pool  of  water,  while  two 
or  three  considerable  streams  coursed  over  the  sand  not  far 
off.  I  was  bathing  at  this  place  in  the  afternoon  when  a 
white  wolf,  larger  than  the  largest  Newfoundland  dog,  ran 
out  from  behind  the  point  of  the  island  and  galloped  leisurely 
over  the  sand  not  half  a  stone's  throw  distant.  I  could 
plainly  see  his  red  eyes  and  the  bristles  about  his  snout;  he 
was  an  ugly  scoundrel,  with  a  bushy  tail,  large  head,  and  a 
most  repulsive  countenance.  Having  neither  rifle  to  shoot 
nor  stone  to  pelt  him  with,  I  was  looking  eagerly  after  some 
missile  for  his  benefit,  when  the  report  of  a  gun  came  from 
the  camp,  and  the  ball  threw  up  the  sand  just  beyond  him;  at 
this  he  gave  a  slight  jump,  and  stretched  away  so  swiftly 
that  he  soon  dwindled  into  a  mere  speck  on  the  distant  sand- 
beds.  The  number  of  carcasses  that  by  this  time  were  lying 
about  the  prairie  all  around  us  summoned  the  wolves  from 
every  quarter ;  the  spot  where  Shaw  and  Henry  had  hunted 
together  soon  became  their  favorite  resort,  for  here  about  a 


376  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

dozen  dead  buffalo  were  fermenting  under  the  hot  sun.  I 
used  often  to  go  over  the  river  and  watch  them  at  their 
meal ;  by  lying  under  the  bank  it  was  easy  to  get  a  full  view  of 
them.  Three  different  kinds  were  present;  there  were  the 
white  wolves  and  the  gray  wolves,  both  extremely  large,  and 
besides  these  the  small  prairie  wolves,  not  much  bigger  than 
spaniels.  They  would  howl  and  fight  in  a  crowd  around  a 
single  carcass,  yet  they  were  so  watchful,  and  their  senses  so 
acute,  that  I  never  was  able  to  crawl  within  a  fair  shooting 
distance;  whenever  I  attempted  it  they  would  all  scatter  at 
once  and  glide  silently  away  through  the  tall  grass.  The  air 
above  this  spot  was  always  full  of  buzzards,  or  black  vultures ; 
whenever  the  wolves  left  a  carcass  they  would  descend  upon 
it,  and  cover  it  so  densely  that  a  rifle-bullet  shot  at  random 
among  the  gormandizing  crowd  would  generally  strike  down 
two  or  three  of  them.  These  birds  would  now  be  sailing  by 
scores  just  above  our  camp,  their  broad  black  wings  seem- 
ing half  transparent  as  they  expanded  them  against  the  bright 
sky.  The  wolves  and  the  buzzards  thickened  about  us  with 
every  hour,  and  two  or  three  eagles  also  came  into  the  feast. 
I  killed  a  bull  within  rifle-shot  of  the  camp;  that  night  the 
wolves  made  a  fearful  howling  close  at  hand,  and  in  the 
morning  the  carcass  was  completely  hollowed  out  by  these 
voracious  feeders. 

After  we  had  remained  four  days  at  this  camp  we  pre- 
pared to  leave  it.  We  had  for  our  own  part  about  five 
hundred  pounds  of  dried  meat,  and  the  California  men  had 
prepared  some  three  hundred  more;  this  consisted  of  the 
fattest  and  choicest  parts  of  eight  or  nine  cows,  a  very  small 
quantity  only  being  taken  from  each,  and  the  rest  abandoned 
to  the  wolves.  The  pack  animals  were  laden,  the  horses 
were  saddled,  and  the  mules  harnessed  to  the  cart.  Even 
Tete  Rouge  was  ready  at  last,  and  slowly  moving  from  the 
ground,  we  resumed  our  journey  eastward.  When  we  had 
advanced  about  a  mile,  Shaw  missed  a  valuable  hunting 


THE  BUFFALO  CAMP  377 

knife  and  turned  back  in  search  of  it,  thinking  that  he  had 
left  it  at  the  camp.  He  approached  the  place  cautiously,  fear- 
ful that  Indians  might  be  lurking  about;  for  a  deserted 
camp  is  dangerous  to  return  to.  He  saw  no  enemy,  but  the 
scene  was  a  wild  and  dreary  one ;  the  prairie  was  over- 
shadowed by  dull,  leaden  clouds,  for  the  day  was  dark  and 
gloomy.  The  ashes  of  the  fires  were  still  smoking  by  the 
river-side ;  the  grass  around  them  was  trampled  down  by  men 
and  horses,  and  strewn  with  all  the  litter  of  a  camp.  Our 
departure  had  been  a  gathering  signal  to  the  birds  and  beasts 
of  prey.  Shaw  assured  me  that  literally  dozens  of  wolves 
were  prowling  about  the  smoldering  fires,  while  multitudes 
were  roaming  over  the  prairie  around ;  they  all  fled  as  he 
approached,  some  running  over  the  sand-beds  and  some  over 
the  grassy  plains.  The  vultures  in  great  clouds  were  soaring 
overhead,  and  the  dead  bull  near  the  camp  was  completely 
blackened  by  the  flock  that  had  alighted  upon  it ;  they  flapped 
their  broad  wings  and  stretched  upward  their  crested  heads 
and  long  skinny  necks,  fearing  to  remain,  yet  reluctant  to 
leave  their  disgusting  feast.  As  he  searched  about  the  fires 
he  saw  the  wolves  seated  on  the  distant  hills  waiting  for 
his  departure.  Having  looked  in  vain  for  his  knife,  he 
mounted  again  and  left  -  the  wolves  and  the  vultures  to 
banquet  freely  upon  the  carrion  of  the  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

DOWN    THE    ARKANSAS 

In  the  summer  of  1846  the  wild  and  lonely  banks  of  the 
Upper  Arkansas  beheld  for  the  first  -time  the  passage  of  an 
army.  General  Kearny,  on  his  march  to  Santa  Fe,  adopted 
this  route  in  preference  to  the  old  trail  of  the  Cimarron. 
When  we  came  down  the  main  body  of  the  troops  had 
already  passed  on ;  Price's  Missouri  regiment,1  however, 
was  still  on  the  way,  having  left  the  frontier  much  later 
than  the  rest ;  and  about  this  time  we  began  to  meet  them 
moving  along  the  trail,  one  or  two  companies  at  a  time. 
No  men  ever  embarked  upon  a  military  expedition  with  a 
greater  love  for  the  work  before  them  than  the  Missouri- 
ans;  but  if  discipline  and  subordination  be  the  criterion  of 
merit,  these  soldiers  were  worthless  indeed.  Yet  when  their 
exploits  have  rung  through  all  America,  it  would  be  absurd 
to  deny  that  they  were  excellent  irregular  troops.  Their 
victories  were  gained  in  the  teeth  of  every  established 
precedent  of  warfare ;  they  .were  owing  to  a  singular  com- 
bination of  military  qualities  in  the  men  themselves.  With- 
out discipline  or  a  spirit  of  subordination,  they  knew  how 
to  keep  their  ranks  and  act  as  one  man.  Doniphan's  regi- 
ment2 marched  through  New  Mexico  more  like  a  band  of 
free  companions  than  like  the  paid  soldiers  of  a  modern 
government.  When  General  Taylor  complimented  Doni- 
phan  on  his  success  at  Sacramento  and  elsewhere,3  the  colo- 

^terling  Price,  b.  1809,  d.  1867,  was  colonel  of  the  Second  Missouri  Cavalry 
in  the  Mexican  War. 

2Alexander  William  Doniphan,  b.  1808,  d.  1887,  was  colonel  of  the  First 
Missouri  Cavalry  in  the  Mexican  War. 

3In  the  winter  of  1846-1847  a  force  under  Col.  A.  W.  Doniphan,  marching 
south  from  New  Mexico  through  El  Paso,  defeated  the  Mexicans  at  Brazito  and 
Sacramento,  Chihuahua. 

378 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  379 

nel's  reply  very  well  illustrates  the  relations  which  subsisted 
between  the  officers  and  men  of  his  command : 

"I  don't  know  anything  of  the  maneuvers.  The  boys 
kept  coming  to  me  to  let  them  charge ;  and  when  I  saw 
a  good  opportunity,  I  told  them  they  might  go.  They  were 
off  like  a  shot,  and  that's  all  I  know  about  it." 

The  backwoods  lawyer  was  better  fitted  to  conciliate 
the  good-will  than  to  command  the  obedience  of  his  men. 
There  were  many  serving  under  him,  who  both  from  char- 
acter and  education  could  better  have  held  command  than  he. 

At  the  battle  of  Sacramento  his  frontiersmen  fought 
under  every  possible  disadvantage.  The  Mexicans  had 
chosen  their  own  position;  they  were  drawn  up  across  the 
valley  that  led  to  their  native  city  of  Chihuahua;  their  whole 
front  was  covered  by  intrenchments  and  defended  by  bat- 
teries of  heavy  cannon ;  they  outnumbered  the  invaders  five 
to  one.  An  eagle  flew  over  the  Americans,  and  a  deep  mur- 
mur rose  along  their  lines.  The  enemy's  batteries  opened; 
long  they  remained  under  fire,  but  when  at  length  the  word 
was  given,  they  shouted  and  ran  forward.  In  one  of  the 
divisions,  when  midway  to  the  enemy,  a  drunken  officer 
ordered  a  halt ;  the  exasperated  men  hesitated  to  obey. 

"Forward,  boys!"  cried  a  private  from  the  ranks;  and 
the  Americans,  rushing  like  tigers  upon  the  enemy,  bounded 
over  the  breastwork.  Four  hundred  Mexicans  were  slain 
upon  the  spot  and  the  rest  fled,  scattering  over  the  plain  like 
sheep.  The  standards,  cannon,  and  baggage  were  taken, 
and  among  the  rest  a  wagon  laden  with  cords,  which  the 
Mexicans,  in  the  fullness  of  their  confidence,  had  made 
ready  for  tying  the  American  prisoners. 

Doniphan's  volunteers,  who  gained  this  victory,  passed 
up  with  the  main  army;  but  Price's  soldiers,  whom  we  now 
met,  were  men  from  the  same  neighborhood,  precisely  simi- 
lar in  character,  manner,  and  appearance.  One  forenoon, 
as  we  were  descending  upon  a  very  wide  meadow  where  we 


380  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

meant  to  rest  for  an  hour  or  two,  we  saw  a  dark  body  of 
horsemen  approaching  at  a  distance.  In  order  to  find  water, 
we  were  obliged  to  turn  aside  to  the  river  bank,  a  full  half 
mile  from  the  trail.  Here  we  put  up  a  kind  of  awning,  and 
spreading  buffalo  robes  on  the  ground,  Shaw  and  I  sat  down 
to  smoke  beneath  it. 

"We  are  going  to  catch  it  now,"  said  Shaw;  "look  at 
those  fellows;  there'll  be  no  peace  for  us  here." 

And  in  good  truth  about  half  the  volunteers  had  strag- 
gled away  from  the  line  of  march,  and  were  riding  over  the 
meadow  toward  us. 

"How  are  you?"  said  the  first  who  came  up,  alighting 
from  his  horse  and  throwing  himself  upon  the  ground.  The 
rest  followed  close,  and  a  score  of  them  soon  gathered  about 
us,  some  lying  at  full  length  and  some  sitting  on  horseback. 
They  all  belonged  to  a  company  raised  in  St.  Louis.  There 
were  some  ruffian  faces  among  them,  and  some  haggard  with 
debauchery;  but  on  the  whole  they  were  extremely  good- 
looking  men,  superior  beyond  measure  to  the  ordinary  rank 
and  file  of  an  army.  Except  that  they  were  booted  to  the 
knees,  they  wore  their  belts  and  military  trappings  over  the 
ordinary  dress  of  citizens.'  Besides  their  swords  and  holster 
pistols,  they  carried  slung  from  their  saddles  the  excellent 
Springfield  carbines,  loaded  at  the  breech.  They  inquired 
the  character  of  our  party,  and  were  anxious  to  know  the 
prospect  of  killing  buffalo,  and  the  chance  that,  their  horses 
would  stand  the  journey  to  Santa  Fe.  All  this  was  well 
enough,  but  a  moment  after  a  worse  visitation  came  upon  us. 

"How  are  you,  strangers?  whar  are  you  going  and  whar 
are  you  from?"  said  a  fellow,  who  came  trotting  up  with  an 
old  straw  hat  on  his  head.  He  was  dressed  in  the  coarsest 
brown  homespun  cloth.  His  face  was  rather  sallow  from 
fever-and-ague,  and  his  tall  figure,  although  strong  and 
sinewy,  was  quite  thin,  and  had  besides  an  angular  look, 
which,  together  with  his  boorish  seat  on  horseback,  gave  him 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  381 

an  appearance  anything  but  graceful.  Plenty  more  of  the 
same  stamp  were  close  behind  him.  Their  company  was 
raised  in  one  of  the  frontier  counties,  and  we  soon  had  abund- 
ant evidence  of  their  rustic  breeding;  dozens  of  them  came 
crowding  round,  pushing  between  our  first  visitors,  and 
staring  at  us  with  unabashed  faces. 

"Are  you  the  captain?"  asked  one  fellow. 

1  What's  your  business  out  here?"  asked  another. 

"Where  do  you  live  when  you're  at  home?"  said  a  third. 

"I  reckon  you're  traders,"  surmised  a  fourth;  and  to 
crown  the  whole,  one  of  them  came  confidently  to  my  side 
and  inquired  in  a  low  voice,  "What's  your  partner's  name?" 

As  each  newcomer  repeated  the  same  questions,  the  nui- 
sance became  intolerable.  Our  military  visitors  were  soon 
disgusted  at  the  concise  nature  of  our  replies,  and  we  could 
overhear  them  muttering  curses  against  us.  While  we  sat 
smoking,  not  in  the  best  imaginable  humor,  Tete  Rouge's 
tongue  was  never  idle.  He  never  forgot  his  military  char- 
acter, and  during  the  whole  interview  he  was  incessantly 
busy  among  his  fellow-soldiers.  At  length  we  placed  him 
on  the  ground  before  us,  and  told  him  that  he  might  play 
the  part  of  spokesman  for  the  whole.  Tete  Rouge  was 
delighted,  and  we  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  talk 
and  gabble  at  such  a  rate  that  the  torrent  of  questions  was 
in  a  great  measure  diverted  from  us.  A  little  while  after,  to 
our  amazement,  we  saw  a  large  cannon  with  four  horses 
come  lumbering  up  behind  the  crowd;  and  the  driver,  who 
was  perched  on  one  of  the  animals,  stretching  his  neck  so  as 
to  look  over  the  rest  of  the  men,  called  out: 

"Whar  are  you  from,  and  what's  your  business?" 

The  captain  of  one  of  the  companies  was  among  our  vis- 
itors, drawTi  by  the  same  curiosity  that  had  attracted  his  men. 
Unless  their  faces  belied  them,  not  a  few  in  the  crowd  might 
with  great  advantage  have  changed  places  with  their  com- 
mander. 


382  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

"Well,  men,"  said  he,  lazily  rising  from  the  ground 
where  he  had  been  lounging,  "it's  getting  late,  I  reckon  we 
had  better  be  moving." 

"I  shan't  start  yet,  anyhow,"  said  one  fellow,  who  was 
laying  half  asleep  with  his  head  resting  on  his  arm. 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  captain,"  added  the  lieutenant. 

"Well,  have  it  your  own  way,  we'll  wait  a  while  longer," 
replied  the  obsequious  commander. 

At  length,  however,  our  visitors  went  straggling  away  as 
they  had  come,  and  we,  to  our  great  relief,  were  left  alone 
again. 

No  one  can  deny  the  intrepid  bravery  of  these  men,  their 
intelligence  and  the  bold  frankness  of  their  character,  free 
from  all  that  is  mean  and  sordid.  Yet  for  the  moment  the 
extreme  roughness  of  their  manners  half  inclines  one  to  forget 
their  heroic  qualities.  Most  of  them  seem  without  the  least 
perception  of  delicacy  or  propriety,  though  among  them  indi- 
viduals may  be  found  in  whose  manners  there  is  a  plain 
courtesy,  while  their  features  bespeak  a  gallant  spirit  equal 
to  any  enterprise. 

No  one  was  more  relieved  than  Deslauriers  by  the  depart- 
ure of  the  volunteers;  for  dinner  was  getting  colder  every 
moment.  He  spread  a  well-whitened  buffalo  hide  upon  the 
grass,  placed  in  the  middle  the  juicy  hump  of  a  fat  cow, 
ranged  around  it  the  tin  plates  and  cups,  and  then  acquainted 
us  that  all  was  ready.  Tete  Rouge,  with  his  usual  alacrity 
on  such  occasions,  was  the  first  to  take  his  seat.  In  his  former 
capacity  of  steamboat  clerk,  he  had  learned  to  prefix  the 
honorary  Mister  to  everybody's  name,  whether  of  high  or  low 
degree ;  so  Jim  Gurney  was  Mr.  Gurney,  Henry  was  Mr. 
Henry,  and  even  Deslauriers,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
heard  himself  addressed  as  Mr.  Deslauriers.  This  did  not 
prevent  his  conceiving  a  violent  enmity  against  Tete  Rouge, 
who  in  his  futile  though  praiseworthy  attempts  to  make  him- 
self useful,  used  always  to  intermeddle  with  cooking  the  din- 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  383 

ners.  Deslaurier's  disposition  knew  no  medium  between 
smiles  and  sunshine  and  a  downright  tornado  of  wrath ;  he 
said  nothing  to  Tete  Rouge,  but  his  wrongs  rankled  in  his 
breast.  Tete  Rouge  had  taken  his  place  at  the  dinner ;  it  was 
his  happiest  moment ;  he  sat  enveloped  in  the  old  buffalo  coat, 
sleeves  turned  up  in  preparation  for  the  work,  and  his  short 
legs  crossed  on  the  grass  before  him;  he  had  a  cup  of  coffee 
by  his  side  and  his  knife  ready  in  his  hand,  and  while  he 
looked  upon  the  fat  hump  ribs,  his  eyes  dilated  with  anticipa- 
tion. Deslauriers  sat  just  opposite  to  him,  and  the  rest  of  us 
by  this  time  had  taken  our  seats. 

"How  is  this,  Deslauriers?  You  haven't  given  us  bread 
enough." 

At  this  Deslauriers's  placid  face  flew  instantly  into  a 
paroxysm  of  contortions.  He  grinned  with  wrath,  chattered, 
gesticulated,  and  hurled  forth  a  volley  of  incoherent  words 
in  broken  English  at  the  astonished  Tete  Rouge.  It  was  just 
possible  to  make  out  that  he  was  accusing  him  of  having  stolen 
and  eaten  four  large  cakes  which  had  been  laid  by  for  din- 
ner. Tete  Rouge,  utterly  confounded  at  this  sudden  attack, 
stared  at  Deslauriers  for  a  moment  in  dumb  amazement, 
with  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open.  At  last  he  found  speech, 
and  protested  that  the  accusation  was  false ;  and  that  he  could 
not  conceive  how  he  had  offended  Mr.  Deslauriers,  or  pro- 
voked him  to  use  such  ungentlemanly  expressions.  The  tem- 
pest of  words  raged  with  such  fury  that  nothing  else  could  be 
heard.  But  Tete  Rouge,  from  his  greater  command  of  Eng- 
lish, had  a  manifest  advantage  over  Deslauriers,  who,  after 
sputtering  and  grimacing  for  a  while,  found  his  words  quite 
inadequate  to  the  expression  of  his  wrath.  He  jumped  up 
and  vanished,  jerking  out  between  his  teeth  one  furious  sacre 
enfant  de  garce,  a  Canadian  title  of  honor,  made  doubly 
emphatic  by  being  usually  applied  together  with  a  cut  of  the 
whip  to  refractory  mules  and  horses. 

The  next  morning  we  saw  an  old  buffalo  bull  escorting 


384  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

his  cow  with  two  small  calves  over  the  prairie.  Close  behind 
came  four  or  five  large  white  wolves,  sneaking  stealthily 
through  the  long  meadow-grass,  and  watching  for  the  moment 
when  one  of  the  children  should  chance  to  lag  behind  his 
parents.  The  old  bull  kept  well  on  his  guard,  and  faced 
about  now  and  then  to  keep  the  prowling  ruffians  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

As  we  approached  our  nooning  place,  we  saw  five  or 
six  buffalo  standing  at  the  very  summit  of  a  tall  bluff.  Trot- 
ting forward  to  the  spot  where  we  meant  to  stop,  I  flung 
off  my  saddle  and  turned  my  horse  loose.  By  making  a  cir- 
cuit under  cover  of  some  rising  ground,  I  reached  the  foot  of 
the  bluff  unnoticed,  and  climbed  up  its  steep  side.  Lying 
under  the  brow  of  the  declivity,  I  prepared  to  fire  at  the 
buffalo,  who  stood  on  the  flat  surface  not  five  yards  distant. 
Perhaps  I  was  too  hasty,  for  the  gleaming  rifle-barrel  leveled 
over  the  edge  caught  their  notice ;  they  turned  and  ran.  Close 
as  they  were,  it  was  impossible  to  kill  them  when  in  that  posi- 
tion, and  stepping  upon  the  summit  I  pursued  them  over  the 
high  arid  table-land.  It  was  extremely  rugged  and  broken  ; 
a  great  sandy  ravine  was  channeled  through  it,  with  smaller 
ravines  entering  on  each  side  like  tributary  streams.  The 
buffalo  scattered,  and  I  soon  lost  sight  of  most  of  them  as 
they  scuttled  away  through  the  sandy  chasms ;  a  bull  and  a 
cow  alone  kept  in  view.  For  a  while  they  ran  along  the 
edge  of  the  great  ravine,  appearing  and  disappearing  as  they 
dived  into  some  chasm  and  again  emerged  from  it.  At  last 
they  stretched  out  upon  the  broad  prairie,  a  plain  nearly  flat 
and  almost  devoid  of  verdure,  for  every  short  grass-blade  was 
dried  and  shriveled  by  the  glaring  sun.  Now  and  then  the 
old  bull  would  face  toward  me;  whenever  he  did  so  I  fell 
to  the  ground  and  lay  motionless.  In  this  manner  I  chased 
them  for  about  two  miles,  until  at  length  I  heard  in  front  a 
deep  hoarse  bellowing.  A  moment  after  a  band  of  about  a 
hundred  bulls,  before  hidden  by  a  slight  swell  of  the  plain, 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  385 

came  at  once  into  view.  The  fugitives  ran  toward  them. 
Instead  of  mingling  with  the  band,  as  I  expected,  they  passed 
directly  through,  and  continued  their  flight.  At  this.  I  gave 
up  the  chase,  and  kneeling  down,  crawled  to  within  gunshot 
of  the  bulls,  and  with  panting  breath  and  trickling  brow  sat 
down  on  the  ground  to  watch  them;  my  presence  did  not 
disturb  them  in  the  least.  They  were  not  feeding,  for, 
indeed,  there  was  nothing  to  eat;  but  they  seemed  to  have 
chosen  the  parched  and  scorching  desert  as  the  scene  of  their 
amusements.  Some  were  rolling  on  the  ground  amid  a  cloud 
of  dust ;  others,  with  a  hoarse  rumbling  bellow,  were  butting 
their  large  heads  together,  while  many  stood  motionless  as 
if  quite  inanimate.  Except  their  monstrous  growth  of  tangled 
grizzly  mane,  they  had  no  hair ;  for  their  old  coat  had  fallen 
off  in  the  spring,  and  their  new  one  had  not  as  yet  appeared. 
Sometimes  an  old  bull  would  step  forward,  and  gaze  at  me 
with  a  grim  and  stupid  countenance ;  then  he  would  turn  and 
butt  his  next  neighbor ;  then  he  would  lie  down  and  roll  ove»r 
in  the  dirt,'  kicking  his  hoofs  in  the  air.  When  satisfied  with 
this  amusement  he  would  jerk  his  head  and  shoulders  upward, 
and  resting  on  his  forelegs  stare  at  me  in  this  position,  half 
blinded  by  his  mane  and  his  face  covered  with  dirt;  then  up 
he  would  spring  upon  all-fours,  and  shake  his  dusty  sides; 
turning  half  round,  he  would  stand  w^ith  his  beard  touching 
the  ground,  in  an  attitude  of  profound  abstraction,  as  if 
reflecting  on  his  puerile  conduct.  "You  are  too  ugly  to  live,'* 
thought  I ;  and  aiming  at  the  ugliest,  I  shot  three  of  them  in 
succession.  The  rest  w^ere  not  at  all  discomposed  at  this; 
they  kept  on  bellowing  and  butting  and  rolling  on  the  ground 
as  before.  Henry  Chatillon  always  cautioned  us  to  keep 
perfectly  quiet  in  the  presence  of  a  wounded  buffalo,  for  any 
movement  is  apt  to  excite  him  to  make  an  attack;  so  I  sat 
still  upon  the  ground,  loading  and  firing  with  as  little  motion 
as  possible.  While  I  was  thus  employed,  a  spectator  made 
his  appearance:  a  little  antelope  came  running  up  with 


386  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

remarkable  gentleness  to  within  fifty  yards ;  and  there  it  stood, 
its  slender  neck  arched,  its  small  horns  thrown  back,  and  its 
large  dark  eyes  gazing  on  me  with  a  look  of  eager  curiosity. 
By  the  side  of  the  shaggy  and  brutish  monsters  before  me, 
it  seemed  like  some  lovely  young  girl  wandering  near  a  den 
of  robbers  or  a  nest  of  bearded  pirates.  The  buffalo  looked 
uglier  than  ever.  "Here  goes  for  another  of  you,"  thought 
I,  feeling  in  my  pouch  for  a  percussion-cap.  Not  a  percus- 
sion cap  was  there.  My  good  rifle  was  useless  as  an  iron 
bar.  One  of  the  wounded  bulls  had  not  yet  fallen,  and  I 
waited  for  some  time,  hoping  every  moment  that  his  strength 
would  fail  him.  He  still  stood  firm,  looking  grimly  at  me, 
and  disregarding  Henry's  advice  I  rose  and  walked  away. 
Many  of  the  bulls  turned  and  looked  at  me,  but  the  wounded 
brute  made  no  attack.  I  soon  came  upon  a  deep  ravine  which 
would  give  me  shelter  in  case  of  emergency;  so  I  turned 
round  and  threw  a  stone  at  the  bulls.  They  received  it  with 
the  utmost  indifference.  Feeling  myself  insulted  at  their 
refusal  to  be  frightened,  I  swung  my  hat,  shouted;  and  made 
a  show  of  running  toward  them;  at  this  they  crowded 
together  and  galloped  off,  leaving  their  dead  and  wounded 
upon  the  field.  As  I  moved  toward  the  camp  I  saw  the  last 
survivor  totter  and  fall  dead.  My  speed  in  returning  was 
wonderfully  quickened  by  the  reflection  that  the  Pawnees 
were  abroad,  and  that  I  was  defenseless  in  case  of  meeting 
with  an  enemy.  I  saw  no  living  thing,  however,  except  two 
or  three  squalid  old  bulls  scrambling  among  the  sand-hills 
that  flanked  the  great  ravine.  When  I  reached  camp  the 
party  were  nearly  ready  for  the  afternoon  move. 

We  encamped  that  evening  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
river  bank.  About  midnight,  as  we  all  lay  asleep  on  the 
ground,  the  man  nearest  to  me  gently  reaching  out  his  hand 
touched  my  shoulder,  and  cautioned  me  at  the  same  time  not 
to  move.  It  was  bright  starlight.  Opening  my  eyes  and 
slightly  turning,  I  saw  a  large  white  wolf  moving  stealthily 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  387 

around  the  embers  of  our  fire,  with  his  nose  close  to  the 
ground.  Disengaging  my  hand  from  the  blanket,  I  drew 
the  cover  from  my  rifle,  which  lay  close  at  my  side;  the 
motion  alarmed  the  wolf,  and  with  long  leaps  he  bounded 
out  of  'the  camp.  Jumping  up,  I  fired  after  him  when  he 
was  about  thirty  yards  distant;  the  melancholy  hum  of  the 
bullet  sounded  far  away  through  the  night.  At  the  sharp 
report,  so  suddenly  breaking  upon  the  stillness,  all  the  men 
sprang  up. 

"You've  killed  him,"  said  one. of  them. 

"No  I  haven't,"  said  I ;  "there  he  goes,  running  along  the 
river." 

"Then  there's  two  of  them.  Don't  you  see  that  one  lying 
out  yonder?" 

We  went  out  to  it,  and  instead  of  a  dead  white  wolf 
found  the  bleached  skull  of  a  buffalo.  I  had  missed  my 
mark,  and  what  was  worse,  had  grossly  violated  a  standing 
law  of  the  prairie.  When  in  a  dangerous  part  of  the  country, 
it  is  considered  highly  imprudent  to  fire  a  gun  after  encamp- 
ing, lest  the  report  should  reach  the  ears  of  the  Indians. 

The  horses  were  saddled  in  the  morning,  and  the  last  man 
had  lighted  his  pipe  at  the  dying  ashes  of  the  fire.  The 
beauty  of  the  day  enlivened  us  all.  Even  Ellis  felt  its  influ- 
ence, and  occasionally  made  a  remark  as  we  rode  along,  and 
Jim  Gurney  told  endless  stories  of  his  cruisings  in  the  United 
States  service.  The  buffalo  were  abundant,  and  at 'length  a 
large  band  of  them  went  running  up  the  hills  on  the  left. 

"Do  you  see  them  buffalo?"  said  Ellis;  "now  I'll  bet  any 
man  I'll  go  and  kill  one  with  my  yager." 

And  leaving  his  horse  to  follow  on  with  the  party,  he 
strode  up  the  hill  after  them.  Henry  looked  at  us  with  his 
peculiar  humorous  expression,  and  proposed  that  we  should 
follow  Ellis  to  see  how  he  would  kill  a  fat  cow.  As  soon 
as  he  was  out  of  sight  we  rode  up  the  hill  after  him,  and 
waited  behind  a  little  ridge  till  we  heard  the  report  of  the 


*88  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

unfailing  yager.  Mounting  to  the  top,  we  saw  Ellis  clutch- 
ing his  favorite  weapon  with  both  hands,  and  staring  after 
the  buffalo,  who  one  and  all  were  galloping  off  at  full  speed. 
As  we  descended  the  hill  we  saw  the  party  straggling  along 
the  trail  below.  When  we  joined  them,  another  scene  of 
amateur  hunting  awaited  us.  I  forgot  to  say  that  when  we 
met  the  volunteers  Tete  Rouge  had  obtained  a  horse  from 
one  of  them,  in  exchange  for  his  mule,  whom  he  feared  and 
detested.  This  horse  he  christened  James.  James,  though 
not  worth  so  much  as  the  mule,  was  a  large  and  strong  ani- 
mal. Tete  Rouge  was  very  proud  of  his  new  acquisition,  and 
suddenly  became  ambitious  to  run  a  buffalo  with  him.  At 
his  request,  I  lent  him  my  pistols,  though  not  without  great 
misgivings,  since  when  Tete  Rouge  hunted  buffalo  the  pur- 
suer was  in  more  danger  than  the  pursued.  He  hung  the 
holsters  at  his  saddle-bow;  and  now,  as  we  passed  along,  a 
band  of  bulls  left  their  grazing  in  the  meadow  and  galloped 
in  a  long  file  across  the  train  in  front. 

"Now's  your  chance,  Tete;  come,  let's  see  you  kill  a  bull." 
Thus  urged,  the  hunter  cried  "Get  up!"  and  James,  obedi- 
ent to  the  signal,  cantered  deliberately  forward  at  an  abomin- 
ably uneasy  gait.  Tete  Rouge,  as  we  contemplated  him  rrom 
behind,  made  a  most  remarkable  figure.  He  still  wore  the 
old  buffalo  coat ;  his  blanket,  which  was  tied  in  a  loose  bundle 
behind  his  saddle,  went  jolting  from  one  side  to  the  other, 
and  a  large  tin  canteen  half  full  of  water,  which  hung  from 
his  pommel,  was  jerked  about  his  leg  in  a  manner  which 
greatly  embarrassed  him. 

"Let  out  your  horse,  man ;  lay  on  your  whip !"  we  called 
out  to  him.  The  buffalo  were  getting  farther  off  at  every 
instant.  James,  being  ambitious  to  mend  his  pace,  tugged 
hard  at  the  rein,  and  one  of  his  rider's  boots  escaped  from  the 
stirrup. 

"Whoa!  I  say,  whoa!"  cried  Tete  Rouge,  in  great  per- 
turbation, and  after  much  effort  James's  progress  was 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  389 

arrested.  The  hunter  came  trotting  back  to  the  party,  dis- 
gusted with  buffalo  running,  and  he  was  received  with  over- 
whelming congratulations. 

"Too  good  a  chance  to  lose/5  said  Shaw,  pointing  to 
another  band  of  bulls  on  the  left.  We  lashed  our  horses 
and  galloped  upon  them.  Shaw  killed  one  with  each  barrel 
of  his  gun.  I  separated  another  from  the  herd  and  shot  him. 
The  small  bullet  of  the  rifled  pistol,  striking  too  far  back, 
did  not  immediately  take  effect,  and  the  bull  ran  on  with  una- 
bated speed.  Again  and  again  I  snapped  the  remaining  pistol 
at  him.  I  primed  it  afresh  three  or  four  times,  and  each 
time  it  missed  fire,  for  the  touch-hole  was  clogged  up. 
Returning  it  to  the  holster,  I  began  to  load  the  empty  pistol, 
still  galloping  by  the  side  of  the  bull.  By  this  time  he  was 
growing  desperate.  The  foam  flew  from  his  jaws  and  his 
tongue  lolled  out.  Before  the  pistol  was  loaded  he  sprang 
upon  me,  and  followed  up  his  attack  with  a  furious  rush.  The 
only  alternative  was  to  run  away  or  be  killed.  I  took  to 
flight,  and  the  bull,  bristling  with  fury,  pursued  me  closely. 
The  pistol  was  soon  ready,  and  then  looking  back,  I  saw  his 
head  five  or  six  yards  behind  my  horse's  tail.  To  fire  at  it 
would  be  useless,  for  a  bullet  flattens  against  the  adamantine 
skull  of  a  buffalo  bull.  Inclining  my  body  to  the  left,  I 
turned  my  horse  in  that  direction  as  sharply  as  his  speed  would 
permit.  The  bull,  rushing  blindly  on  with  great  force  and 
weight,  did  not  turn  so  quickly.  As  I  looked  back,  his  neck 
and  shoulders  were  exposed  to  view;  turning  in  the  saddle, 
I  shot  a  bullet  through  them  obliquely  into  his  vitals.  He 
gave  over  the  chase  and  soon  fell  to  the  ground.  An  English 
tourist  represents  a  situation  like  this  as  one  of  imminent 
danger ;  this  is  a  great  mistake ;  the  bull  never  pursues  long, 
and  the  horse  must  be  wretched  indeed  that  cannot  keep  out 
of  his  way  for  two  or  three  minutes. 

We  were  now  come  to  a  part  of  the  country  where  we 
were  bound  in  common  prudence  to  use  every  possible  pre- 


390  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

caution.  We  mounted  guard  at  night,  each  man  standing 
in  his  turn;  and  no  one  ever  slept  without  drawing  his  rifle 
close  to  his  side  or  folding  it  with  him  in  his  blanket.  One 
morning  our  vigilance  was  stimulated  by  our  finding  traces 
of  a  large  Comanche  encampment.  Fortunately  for  us,  how- 
ever, it  had  been  abandoned  nearly  a  week.  On  the  next 
evening  we  found  the  ashes  of  a  recent  fire,  which  gave  us  at 
the  time  some  uneasiness.  At  length  we  reached  the  Caches, 
a  place  of  dangerous  repute;  and  it  had  a  most  dangerous 
appearance,  consisting  of  sand-hills  everywhere  broken  by 
ravines  and  deep  chasms.  Here  we  found  the  grave  of  Swan, 
killed  at  this  place,  probably  by  the  Pawnees,  two  or  three 
weeks  before.  His  remains,  more  than  once  violated  by  the 
Indians  and  the  wolves,  were  suffered  at  length  to  remain 
undisturbed  in  their  wild  burial  place. 

For  several  days  we  met  detached  companies  of  Price's 
regiment.  Horses  would  often  break  loose  at  night  from  their 
camps.  One  afternoon  we  picked  up  three  of  these  stragglers 
quietly  grazing  along  the  river.  After  we  came  to  camp  that 
evening,  Jim  Gurney  brought  news  that  more  of  them  were 
in  sight.  It  was  nearly  dark,  and  a  cold,  drizzling  rain  had 
set  in ;  but  we  all  turned  out,  and  after  an  hour's  chase  nine 
horses  were  caught  and  brought  in.  One  of  them  was  equip- 
ped with  saddle  and  bridle;  pistols  were  hanging  at  the  pom- 
mel of  the  saddle,  a  carbine  was  slung  at  its  side,  and  a  blan- 
ket rolled  up  behind  it.  In  the  morning,  glorying  in  our  valu- 
able prize,  we  resumed  our  journey,  and  our  cavalcade  pre- 
sented a  much  more  imposing  appearance  than  ever  before. 
We  kept  on  till  the  afternoon,  when,  far  behind,  three  horse- 
men appeared  on  the  horizon.  Coming  on  at  a  hand-gallop, 
they  soon  overtook  us,  and  claimed  all  the  horses  as  belong- 
ing to  themselves  and  others  of  their  company.  They  were 
of  course  given  up,  very  much  to  the  mortification  of  Ellis 
and  Jim  Gurney. 

Our  own  horses  now  showed  signs  of  fatigue,  and  we 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  391 

resolved  to  give  them  half  a  day's  rest.  We  stopped  at  noon 
at  a  grassy  spot  by  the  river.  After  dinner  Shaw  and  Henry 
went  out  to  hunt ;  and  while  the  men  lounged  about  the  camp, 
I  lay  down  to  read  in  the  shadow  of  the  cart.  Looking  up, 
I  saw  a  bull  grazing  alone  on  the  prairie  more  than  a  mile 
distant.  I  was  tired  of  reading,  and  taking  my  rifle  I  walked 
toward  him.  As  I  came  near,  I  crawled  upon  the  ground 
until  I  approached  to  within  a  hundred  yards ;  here  I  sat  down 
upon  the  grass  and  waited  till  he  should  turn  himself  into  a 
proper  position  to  receive  his  death-wound.  He  was  a  grim 
old  veteran.  His  loves  and  his  battles  were  over  for  that  sea- 
son, and  now,  gaunt  and  war-worn,  he  had  withdrawn  from 
the  herd  to  graze  by  himself  and  recruit  his  exhausted 
strength.  He  was  miserably  emaciated;  his  mane  was  all  in 
tatters;  his  hide  was  bare  and  rough  as  an  elephant's,  and 
covered  with  dried  patches  of  the  mud  in  which  he  had  been 
wallowing.  He  showed  all  his  ribs  whenever  he  moved.  He 
looked  like  some  grizzly  old  ruffian  grown  gray  in  blood  and 
violence,  and  scowling  on  all  the  world  from  his  misanthropic 
seclusion.  The  old  savage  looked  up  when  I  first  approached, 
and  gave  me  a  fierce  stare ;  then  he  fell  to  grazing  again  with 
an  air  of  contemptuous  indifference.  The  moment  after,  as  if 
suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  threw  up  his  head,  faced 
quickly  about,  and  to  my  amazement  came  at  a  rapid  trot 
directly  toward  me.  I  was  strongly  impelled  to  get  up  and 
run,  but  this  would  have  been  very  dangerous.  Sitting  quite 
still,  I  aimed,  as  he  came  on,  at  a  thin  part  of  the  skull  above 
the  nose.  After  he  had  passed  over  about  three-quarters  of  the 
distance  between  us,  I  was  on  the  point  of  firing,  when, 'to  my 
great  satisfaction,  he  stopped  short.  I  had  full  opportunity  of 
studying  his  countenance ;  his  whole  front  was  covered  with  a 
huge  mass  of  coarse  matted  hair,  which  hung  so  low  that  noth- 
ing but  his  two  fore  feet  were  visible  beneath  it;  his  short 
thick  horns  were  blunted  and  split  to  the  very  roots  in  his 
various  battles,  and  across  his  lose  and  forehead  were  two  or 


392  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

three  large  white  scars,  which  gave  him  a  grim  and  at  the 
same  time  a  whimsical  appearance.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he 
stood  there  motionless  for  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour,  looking 
at  me  through  the  tangled  locks  of  his  mane.  For  my  part,  I 
remained  as  quiet  as  he,  and  looked  quite  as  hard ;  I  felt 
greatly  inclined  to  come  to  terms  with  him.  "My  friend," 
thought  I,  "if  you'll  let  me  off,  I'll  let  you  off."  At  length 
he  seemed  to  have  abandoned  any  hostile  design.  Very 
slowly  and  deliberately  he  began  to  turn  about ;  little  by  little 
his  side  came  into  view,  all  beplastered  with  mud.  It  was  a 
tempting  .sight.  I  forgot  my  prudent  intentions,  and  fired  my 
rifle ;  a  pistol  would  have  served  at  that  distance.  Round 
spun  the  old  bull  like  a  top,  and  away  he  galloped  over  the 
prairie.  He  ran  some  distance,  and  even  ascended  a  consider- 
able hill,  before  he  lay  down  and  died.  After  shooting  another 
bull  among  the  hills,  I  went  back  to  camp. 

At  noon,  on  the  fourteenth  of  September,  a  very  large 
Santa  Fe  caravan  came  up.  The  plain  was  covered  with  the 
long  files  of  their  white-topped  wagons,  the  close  black  car- 
riages in  which  the  traders  travel  and  sleep,  large  droves  of 
animals,  and  men  on  horseback  and  on  fool.  They  all  stopped 
on  the  meadow  near  us.  Our  diminutive  cart  and  handful  of 
men  made  but  an  insignificant  figure  by  the  side  of  their  wide 
and  bustling  camp.  Tete  Rouge  went  over  to  visit  them,  and 
soon  came  back  with  half  a  dozen  biscuits  in  one  hand  and 
a  bottle  of  brandy  in  the  other.  I  inquired  where  he  got  them. 
"Oh,"  said  Tete  Rouge,  "I  know  some  of  the  traders.  Dr. 
Dobbs  is  there  besides."  I  asked  who  Dr.  Dobbs  might  be. 
"One  of  our  St.  Louis  doctors,"  replied  Tete  Rouge.  For 
two  days  past  I  had  been  severely  attacked  by  the  same  disor- 
der which  had  so  greatly  reduced  my  strength  when  at  the 
mountains ;  at  this  time  I  was  suffering  not  a  little  from  the 
sudden  pain  and  weakness  which  it  occasioned.  Tete  Rouge, 
in  answer  to  my  inquiries,  declared  that  Dr.  •  Dobbs  was  3 
physician  of  the  first  standing.  Without  at  all  believing  him, 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  393 

1  resolved  to  consult  this  eminent  practitioner.  Walking  over 
to  the  camp,  I  found  him  lying  sound  asleep  under  one  of  the 
wagons.  He  offered  in  his  own  person  but  an  indifferent 
specimen  of  his  skill,  for  it  was  five  months  since  I  had  seen 
so  cadaverous  a  face.  His  hat  had  fallen  off,  and  his  yellow 
hair  was  all  in  disorder;  one  of  his  arms  supplied  the  place  of 
a  pillow;  his  pantaloons  were  wrinkled  half  way  up  to  his 
knees,  and  he  was  covered  with  little  bits  of  grass  and  straw 
upon  which  he  had  rolled  in  his  uneasy  slumber.  A  Mexican 
stood  near,  and  I  made  him  a  sign  that  he  should  touch  the 
doctor.  Up  sprang  the  learned  Dobbs,  and,  sitting  upright, 
rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  about  him  in  great  bewilderment. 
I  regretted  the  necessity  of  disturbing  him,  and  said  I  had 
come  to  ask  professional  advice.  "Your  system,  sir,  is  in  a 
disordered  state,"  said  he  solemnly,  after  a  short  examina- 
tion. 

I  inquired  what  might  be  the  particular  species  of  dis- 
order. 

"Evidently  a  morbid  action  of  the  liver,"  replied  the  medi- 
cal man;  "I  will  give  you  a  prescription." 

Repairing  to  the  back  of  one  of  the  covered  wagons,  he 
scrambled  in ;  for  a  moment  I  could  see  nothing  of  him  but 
his  boots.  At  length  he  produced  a  box  which  he  had 
extracted  from  some  dark  recess  within,  and  opening  it,  he 
presented  me  with  a  folded  paper  of  some  size.  "What  is  it?" 
said  I.  "Calomel,"  said  the  doctor. 

Under  the  circumstances  I  would  have  taken  almost  any- 
thing. There  was  not  enough  to  do  me  much  harm,  and  it 
might  possibly  do  good ;  so  at  camp  that  night  I  took  the  poi- 
son instead  of  supper. 

That  camp  is  worthy  of  notice.  The  traders  warned  us 
not  to  follow  the  main  trail  along  the  river,  "unless,"  as  one 
of  them  observed,  "you  want  to  have  your  throats  cut!" 
The  river  at  this  place  makes  a  bend;1  and  a  smaller  trail, 

^rom  the  present  Dodge  City  to  Larned,  Kansas.  The  region  between  these 
points  and  about  the  Pawnee  Fork  was  one  of  the  most  dangerous  sections  of 
the  Santa  F6  trail. 


394  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

known  as  the  Ridge-path,  leads  directly  across  the  prairie 
from  point  to  point,  a  distance  of  sixty  or  seventy  miles. 

We  followed  this  trail,  and  after  traveling  seven  or  eight 
miles  we  came  to  a  small  stream,  where  we  encamped.  Our 
position  was  not  chosen  with  much  forethought  or  military 
•kill.  The  water  was  in  a  deep  hollow,  with  steep,  high 
banks;  on  the  grassy  bottom  of  this  hollow  we  picketed  our 
horses,  while  we  ourselves  encamped  upon  the  barren  prairie 
just  above.  The  opportunity  was  admirable  either  for  driv- 
ing off  our  horses  or  attacking  us.  After  dark,  as  Tete 
Rouge  was  sitting  at  supper,  we  observed  him  pointing  with 
a  face  of  speechless  horror  over  the  shoulder  of  Henry,  who 
was  opposite  to  him.  Aloof  amid  the  darkness  appeared  a 
gigantic  black  apparition;  solemnly  swaying  to  and  fro,  it 
advanced  steadily  upon  us.  Henry,  half  vexed  and  half 
amused,  jumped  up,  spread  out  his  arms,  and  shouted.  The 
invader  was  an  old  buffalo  bull,  who,  with  characteristic 
stupidity,  was  walking  directly  into  camp.  It  cost  some 
shouting  and  swinging  of  hats  before  we  could  bring  him 
first  to  a  halt  and  then  to  a  rapid  retreat. 

That  night  the  moon  was  full  and  bright;  but  as  the 
black  clouds  chased  rapidly  over  it,  we  were  at  one  moment 
in  light  and  at  the  next  in  darkness.  As  the  evening 
advanced,  a  thunder-storm  came  up;  it  struck  us  with  such 
violence  that  the  tent  would  have  been  blown  over  if  we  had 
not  interposed  the  cart  to  break  the  force  of  the  wind.  At 
length  it  subsided  to  a  steady  rain.  I  lay  awake  through 
nearly  the  whole  night,  listening  to  its  dull  patter  upon  the 
canvas  above.  The  moisture,  which  filled  the  tent  and 
trickled  from  everything  in  it,  did  not  add  to  the  comfort  of 
the  situation.  About  twelve  o'clock  Shaw  went  out  to  stand 
guard  amid  the  rain  and  pitch  darkness.  Munroe,  the  most 
vigilant  as  well  as  one  of  the  bravest  among  us,  was  also  on 
the  alert.  When  about  two  hours  had  passed,  Shaw  came 
silently  in,  and  touching:  Henry,  called  him  in  a  low  quick 


DOWN  THE  ARKANSAS  395 

voice  to  come  out.  "What  is  it?"  I  asked.  "Indians,  I 
believe,"  whispered  Shaw;  "but  lie  still;  I'll  call  you  if 
there's  a  fight." 

He  and  Henry  went  out  together.  I  took  the  cover  from 
my  rifle,  put  a  fresh  percussion  cap  upon  it,  and  then,  being 
in  much  pain,  lay  down  again.  In  about  five  minutes  Shaw 
came  in  again.  "All  right,"  he  said,  as  he  lay  down  to  sleep. 
Henry  was  now  standing  guard  in  his  place.  He  told  me 
in  the  morning  4ie  particulars  of  the  alarm.  Munroe's 
\\  atchful  eye  discovered  some  dark  objects  down  in  the  hol- 
low, among  the  horses,  like  men  creeping  on  all  fours. 
Lying  flat  on  their  faces,  he  and  Shaw  crawled  to  the  edge 
of  the  bank,  and  were  soon  convinced  that  what  they  saw 
were  Indians.  Shaw  silently  withdrew  to  call  Henry,  and 
they  all  lay  watching  in  the  same  position.  Henry's  eye  is 
one  of  the  best  on  the  prairie.  He  detected  after  a  while  the 
true  nature  of  the  moving  objects;  they  were  nothing  but 
wolves  creeping  among  the  horses. 

It  is  very  singular  that  when  picketed  near  a  camp  horses 
seldom  show  any  fear  of  such  an  intrusion.  The  wolves 
appear  to  have  no  other  object  than  that  of  gnawing  the 
trail-ropes  of  raw-hide  by  which  the  animals  are  secured. 
Several  times  in  the  course  of  the  journey  my  horse's  trail- 
rope  was  bitten  in  two  by  these  nocturnal  visitors. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

. 

THE  SETTLEMENTS 

The  next  day  was  extremely  hot,  and  we  rode  from 
morning  till  night  without  seeing  a  tree  or  a  bush  or  a  drop 
of  water.  Our  horses  and  mules  suffered  much  more  than 
we,  but  as  sunset  approached  they  pricked  up  their  ears  and 
mended  their  pace.  Water  was  not  far  off.  When  we 
came  to  the  descent  of  the  broad  shallow  valley  where  it  lay, 
an  unlooked-for  sight  awaited  us.  The  stream  glistened  at 
the  bottom,  and  along  its  banks  were  pitched  a  multitude  of 
tents,  while  hundreds  of  cattle  were  feeding  over  the  mead- 
ows. Bodies  of  troops,  both  horse  and  foot,  and  long  trains 
of  wagons  with  men,  women,  and  children,  were  moving 
over  the  opposite  ridge  and  descending  the  broad  declivity 
in  front.  These  were  the  Mormon  battalion  in  the  service 
of  government,1  together  with  a  considerable  number  of 
Missouri  volunteers.  The  Mormons  were  to  be  paid  off  in 
California,  and  they  were  allowed  to  bring  with  them  their 
families  and  property.  There  was  something  very  striking 
in  the  half-military,  half-patriarchal  appearance  of  these 
armed  fanatics,  thus  on  their  way  with  their  wives  and 
children  to  found,  it  might  be,  a  Mormon  empire  in  Cali- 
fornia. We  were  much  more  astonished  than  pleased  at  the 
sight  before  us.  In  order  to  find  an  unoccupied  camping 
ground,  we  were  obliged  to  pass  a  quarter  of  a  mile  up  the 
stream,  and  here  we  were  soon  beset  by  a  swarm  of  Mor- 
mons and  Missourians.  The  United  States  officer  in  com- 

*In  June,  1846,  Col.  Stephen  W.  Kearny,  in  command  of  the  forces  organized 
at  Fort  Leavenworth,  was  authorized  to  muster  in  as  volunteers  a  limited  number 
of  Mormons,  a  large  body  of  whom  were  then  on  the  way  to  California.  Five 
hundred  were  enlisted  on  the  terms  stated  in  the  text. 

396 


THE  SETTLEMENTS  397 

mand  of  the  whole  came  also  to  visit  us,  and  remained  some 
time  at  our  camp. 

In  the  morning  the  country  was  covered  with  mist.  We 
were  always  early  risers,  but  before  we  were  ready  the  voices 
of  men  driving  in  the  cattle  sounded  all  around  us.  As  we 
passed  above  their  camp,  we  saw  through  the  obscurity  that 
the  tents  were  falling  and  the  ranks  rapidly  forming;  and 
mingled  with  the  cries  of  women  and  children,  the  rolling  of 
the  Mormon  drums  and  the  clear  blast  of  their  trumpets 
sounded  through  the  mist. 

From  that  time  to  the  journey's  end,  we  met  almost 
every  day  long  trains  of  government  wagons,  laden  with 
stores  for  the  troops  and  crawling  at  a  snail's  pace  toward 
Santa  Fe. 

Tete  Rouge  had  a  mortal  antipathy  to  danger,  but  on  a 
foraging  expedition  one  evening  he  achieved  an  adventure 
more  perilous  than  had  yet  befallen  any  man  in  the  party. 
The  night  after  we  left  the  Ridge-path  we  encamped  close 
to  the  river.  At  sunset  we  saw  a  train  of  wagons  encamping 
on  the  trail  about  three  miles  off;  and  though  we  saw  them 
distinctly,  our  little  cart,  as  it  afterward  proved,  entirely 
escaped  their  view,  For  some  days  Tete  Rouge  had  been  long- 
ing eagerly  after  a  dram  of  whisky.  So,  resolving  to  improve 
the  present  opportunity,  he  mounted  his  horse  James,  slung  his 
canteen  over  his  shoulder,  and  set  forth  in  search  of  hi? 
favorite  liquor.  Some  hours  passed  without  his  returning 
We  thought  he  was  lost,  or  perhaps  that  some  stray  Indian 
had  snapped  him  up.  While  the  rest  fell  asleep  I  remained 
on  guard.  Late  at  night  a  tremulous  voice  saluted  me  from 
the  darkness,  and  Tete  Rouge  and  James  soon  became  visible, 
advancing  toward  the  camp.  Tete  Rouge  was  in  much  agita- 
tion and  big  with  some  important  tidings.  Sitting  down  on 
t-he  shaft  of  the  cart,  he  told  the  following  story : 

When  he  left  the  camp  he  had  no  idea,  he  said,  how  latr 
it  was.  By  the  time  he  approached  the  wagoners  it  was  per- 


398  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

fectly  dark;  and  as  he  saw  them  all  sitting  around  their  fires 
within  the  circle  of  wagons,  their  guns  laid  by  their  sides,  he 
thought  that  he  might  as  well  give  warning  of  his  approach, 
in  order  to  prevent  a  disagreeable  mistake.  Raising  his  voice 
to  the  highest  pitch,  he  screamed  out  in  prolonged  accents, 
"Camp,  ahoy!"  This  eccentric  salutation  produced  anything 
but  the  desired  result.  Hearing  such  hideous  sounds  pro- 
ceeding from  the  outer  darkness,  the  wagoners  thought  that 
the  whole  Pawnee  nation  were  about  to  break  in  and  take 
their  scalps.  Up  they  sprang  staring  with  terror.  Each  man 
snatched  his  gun ;  some  stood  behind  the  wagons ;  some  threw 
themselves  flat  on  the  ground,  and  in  an  instant  twenty 
cocked  muskets  were  leveled  full  at  the  horrified  Tete  Rouge, 
who  just  then  began  to  be  visible  through  the  darkness. 

"Thar  they  come,"  cried  the  master  wagoner,  "fire,  fire! 
shoot  that  feller." 

"No,  no!"  screamed  Tete  Rouge,  in  an  ecstasy  of  fright; 
"don't  fire,  don't!  I'm  a  friend,  I'm  an  American  citizen!" 

"You're  a  friend,  be  you?"  cried  a  gruff  voice  from  the 
wagons,  "then  what  are  you  yelling  out  thar  for  like  a  wild 
Injun?  Come  along  up  here  if  you're  a  man." 

"Keep  your  guns  p'inted  at  him,"  added  the  master 
wagoner,  "maybe  he's  a  decoy,  like." 

Tete  Rouge  in  utter  bewilderment  made  his  approach, 
with  the  gaping  muzzles  of  the  muskets  still  before  his  eyes. 
He  succeeded  at  last  in  explaining  his  character  and  situation, 
and  the  Missourians  admitted  him  into  camp.  He  .got  no 
whisky;  but  as  he  represented  himself  as  a  great  invalid,  and 
suffering  much  from  coarse  fare,  they  made  up  a  contribu- 
tion for  him  of  rice,  biscuit,  and  sugar  from  their  own  rations. 

In  the  morning  at  breakfast,  Tete  Rouge  once  more 
related  this  story.  We  hardly  knew  how  much  of  it  to 
believe,  though  after  some  cross-questioning  we  failed  to  dis- 
cover any  flaw  in  the  narrative.  Passing  by  the  wagoner's 


THE  SETTLEMENTS  399 

camp,  they  confirmed  Tete  Rouge's  account  in  every  par- 
ticular. 

•"I  wouldn't  have  been  in  that  feller's  place,"  said  one 
of  them,  "for  the  biggest  heap  of  money  in  Missouri." 

To  Tete  Rouge's  great  wrath  they  expressed  a  firm  con- 
viction that  he  was  crazy.  We  left  them  after  giving  them 
the  advice  not  to  trouble  themselves  about  war-whoops  in 
future,  since  they  would  be  apt  to  feel  an  Indian's  arrow 
before  they  heard  his  voice.  ^RfiCTOtt  LibflTJr 

A  day  or  two  after,  we  had  an  adventure  of  another 
sort  with  a  party  of  wagoners.  Henry  and  I  rode  forward 
to  hunt.  After  that  day  there  was  no  probability  that  we 
should  meet  with  buffalo,  and  we  were  anxious  to  kill  one 
for  the  sake  of  fresh  meat.  They  were  so  wild  that  we 
hunted  all  the  morning  in  vain,  but  at  noon  as  we  approached 
Cow  Creek  we  saw  a  large  band  feeding  near  its  margin.  Cow 
Creek  is  densely  lined  with  trees  which  intercept  the 
view  beyond,  and  it  runs,  as  we  afterward  found,  at  the 
bottom  of  a  deep  trench.  We  approached  by  riding  along 
the  bottom  of  a  ravine.  When  we  were  near  enough,  I 
held  the  horses  while  Henry  crept  toward  the  buffalo.  I 
saw  him  take  his  seat  within  shooting  distance,  prepare  his 
rifle,  and  look  about  to  select  his  victim.  The  death  of  a 
fat  COWT  was  certain,  when  suddenly  a  great  smoke  arose 
from  the  bed  of  the  Creek  with  a  rattling  volley  of  mus- 
ketry. A  score  of  long-legged  Missourians  leaped  out  from 
among  the  trees  and  ran  after  the  buffalo,  who  one  and 
all  took  to  their  heels  and  vanished.  These  fellows  had 
crawled  up  the  bed  of  the  Creek  to  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  the  buffalo.  Never  was  there  a  fairer  chance  for  a  shot. 
They  were  good  marksmen ;  all  cracked  away  at  once,  and 
yet  not  a  buffalo  fell.  In  fact  the  animal  is  so  tenacious 
of  life  that  it  requires  no  little  knowledge  of  anatomy  to 
kill  it,  and  it  is  very  seldom  that  a  novice  succeeds  in  his 
first  attempt  at  approaching.  The  balked  Missourians  were 


400  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

excessively  mortified,  especially  when  Henry  told  them  that 
if  they  had  kept  quiet  he  would  have  killed  meat  enough  in 
ten  minutes  to  feed  their  whole  party.  .Our  friends,  who  were 
at  no  great  distance,  hearing  such  a  formidable  fusillade, 
thought  the  Indians  had  fired  the  volley  for  our  benefit. 
Shaw  came  galloping  on  to  reconnoiter  and  learn  if  we 
were  yet  in  the  land  of  the  living. 

At  Cow  Creek  we  found  the  very  welcome  novelty  of 
ripe  grapes  and  plums,  which  grew  there  in  abundance.  At 
the  Little  Arkansas,  not  much  farther  on,  we  saw  the  last 
buffalo,  a  miserable  old  bull,  roaming  over  the  prairie  alone 
and  melancholy. 

From  this  time  iorward  the  character  of  the  country 
was  changing  every  day.  We  had  left  behind  us  the  great 
arid  deserts,  meagerly  covered  by  the  tufted  buffalo  grass, 
with  its  pale  green  hue  and  its  short  shriveled  blades.  The 
plains  before  us  were  carpeted  with  rich  and  verdant  herbage 
sprinkled  with  flowers.  In  place  of  buffalo  we  found  plenty 
of  prairie  hens,  and  we  bagged  them  by  dozens  without  leav- 
ing the  trail.  In  three  or  four  days  we  saw  before  us  the 
broad  woods  and  the  emerald  meadows  of  Council  Grove,' 
a  scene  of  striking  luxuriance  and  beauty.  It  seemed  like 
a  new  sensation  as  we  rode  beneath  the  resounding  arches  oi 
these  noble  woods.  The  trees  were  ash,  oak,  elm,  maple, 
and  hickory,  their  mighty  limbs  deeply  overshadowing  the 
path,  while  enormous  grape  vines  were  entwined  among 
them,  purple  with  fruit.  The  shouts  of  our  scattered  party, 
and  now  and  then  a  report  of  a  rifle,  rang  amid  the  breath- 
ing stillness  of  the  forest.  We  rode  forth  again  with  regret 
into  the  broad  light  of  the  open  prairie.  Little  more  than 
a  hundred  miles  now  separated  us  from  the  frontier  settle- 
ments. The  whole  intervening  country  was  a  succession  oi 
verdant  prairies,  rising  in  broad  swells  and  relieved  by  trees 
clustering  like  an  oasis  around  some  spring,  or  following 

JThe  principal  stopping  point  on  the  Santa  F6  trail  in  Kansas. 


THE  SETTLEMENTS  401 

the  course  of  a  stream  along  some  fertile  hollow.  These 
are  the  prairies  of  the  poet  and  the  novelist.  We  had  left 
danger  behind  us.  Nothing  was  to  be  feared  from  the  Indians 
of  this  region,  the  Sauk  and  Foxes,  the  Kansas  and  the 
Osages.  We  had  met  with  signal  good  fortune.  Although 
for  five  months  we  had  been  traveling  with  an  insufficient 
force  through  a  country  where  we  were  at  any  moment 
liable  to  depredation,  not  a  single  animal  had  been  stolen 
from  us,  and  our  only  loss  had  been  one  old  mule  bitten  to 
death  by  a  rattlesnake.  Three  weeks  after  we  reached  the 
frontier  the  Pawnees  and  the  Comanches  began  a  regular 
series  of  hostilities  on  the  Arkansas  trail,  killing  men  and 
driving  off  horses.  They  attacked,  without  exception,  every 
party,  large  or  small,  that  passed  during  the  next  six  months. 

Diamond  Spring,1  Rock  Creek,2  Elder  Grove,  and  other 
camping  places  besides,  were  passed  all  in  quick  succession. 
At  Rock  Creek  we  found  a  train  of  government  provision 
wagons,  under  the  charge  of  an  emaciated  old  man  in  his 
seventy-first  year.  Some  restless  American  devil  had  driven 
him  into  the  wilderness  at  a  time  when  he  should  have  been 
seated  at  his  fireside  with  his  grand-children  on  his  knees. 
I  am  convinced  that  he  never  returned ;  he  was  complaining 
that  night  of  a  disease,  the  wasting  effects  of  which  upon 
a  younger  and  stronger  man  I  myself  had  proved  from 
severe  experience.  Long  ere  this  no  doubt  the  wolves  have 
howled  their  moonlight  carnival  over  the  old  man's  attenu- 
ated remains. 

Not  long  after  we  came  to  a  small  trail  leading  to 
Fort  Leavenworth,  distant  but  one  day's  journey.  Tete 
Rouge  here  took  leave  of  us.  He  was  anxious  to  go  to  the 
fort  in  order  to  receive  payment  for  his  valuable  military 
services.  So  he  and  his  horse  James,  after  bidding  an  affec- 
tionate farewell,  set  out  together,  taking,  with  them  as  much 

1  About  five  miles  north  of  the  present  Diamond  Springs,  Morris  County, 
Kansas. 

2In  Morris  County,  Kansas. 


402  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

provision  as  they  could  conveniently  carry,  including  a  lai 
quantity  of  brown  sugar.  On  a  cheerless  rainy  evening  ' 
came  to  our  last  encamping  ground.  Some  pigs  belongi 
to  a  Shawnee  farmer  were  grunting  and  rooting  at  the  ed 
of  the  grove. 

"I  wonder  how  fresh  pork  tastes,"  murmured  one  of  t 
party,  and  more  than  one  voice  murmured  in  response.  T 
fiat  went  forth,  "That  pig  must  die,"  and  a  rifle  was  level 
forthwith  at  the  countenance  of  the  plumpest  porker.  Ji 
then  a  wagon  train,  with  some  twenty  Missourians,  came  c 
from  among  the  trees.  The  marksman  suspended  his  ai 
deeming  it  inexpedient  under  the  circumstances  to  consu 
mate  the  deed  of  blood. 

In  the  morning  we  made  our  toilet  as  well  as  circu 
stances  would  permit,  and  that  is  saying  but  very  little, 
spite  of  the  dreary  rain  of  yesterday,  there  never  was 
brighter  and  gayer  autumnal  morning  than  that  on  whi 
we  returned  to  the  settlements.  We  were  passing  throu 
the  country  of  the  half-civilized  Shawnees.  It  was  a  be* 
tiful  alternation  of  fertile  plains  and  groves,  whose  folia 
was  just  tinged  with  the  hues  of  autumn,  while  close  bene* 
them  rested  the  neat  log-houses  of  the  Indian  farmers.  Eve 
field  and  meadow  bespoke  the  exuberant  fertility  of  the  sc 
The  maize  stood  rustling  in  the  wind,  matured  and  dry, 
shining  yellow  ears  thrust  out  between  the  gaping  husl 
Squashes  and  enormous  yellow  pumpkins  lay  basking  in  t 
sun  in  the  midst  of  their  brown  and  shriveled  leaves.  Robi 
and  blackbirds  flew  about  the  fences ;  and  everything  in  she 
betokened  our  near  approach  to  home  and  civilization.  T 
forests  that  border  on  the  Missouri  soon  rose  before  us,  ai 
we  entered  the  wide  tract  of  shrubbery  which  forms  th< 
outskirts.  We  had  passed  the  same  road  on  our  outwa 
journey  in  the  spring,  but  its  aspect  was  totally  change 
The  young  wild  apple-trees,  then  flushed  with  their  fragra 
blossoms,  were  now  hung  thickly  with  ruddy  fruit.  T; 


THE  SETTLEMENTS  403 

grass  flourished  by  the  roadside  in  place  of  the  tender  shoots 
just  peeping  from  the  warm  and  oozy  soil.  The  vines  were 
laden  with  dark  purple  grapes,  and  the  slender  twigs  of  the 
maple,  then  tasseled  with  their  clusters  of  small  red  flowers, 
now  hung  out  a  gorgeous  display  of  leaves  stained  by  the 
frost  with  burning  crimson.  On  every  side  we  saw  the 
tokens  of  maturity  and  decay  where  all  had  before  been 
fresh  and  beautiful.  We  entered  the  forest,  and  ourselves 
and  our  horses  were  checkered,  as  we  passed  along,  by  the 
bright  spots  of  sunlight  that  fell  between  the  opening  boughs. 
On  either  side  the  dark  rich  masses  of  foliage  almost  excluded 
the  sun,  though  here  and  there  its  rays  could  find  their  way 
down,  striking  through  the  broad  leaves  and  lighting  them 
with  a  pure  transparent  green.  Squirrels  barked  at  us  from 
the  trees;  coveys  of  young  partridges  ran  rustling  over  the 
leaves  below,  and  the  golden  oriole,  the  blue  jay,  and  the 
flaming  red-bird  darted  among  the  shadowy  branches.  We 
hailed  these  sights  and  sounds  of  beauty  by  no  means  with 
an  unmingled  pleasure.  Many  and  powerful  as  were  the 
attractions  which  drew  us  toward  the  settlements,  we  looked 
back  even  at  that  moment  with  an  eager  longing  toward  the 
wilderness  of  prairies  and  mountains  behind  us.  For  myself, 
I  had  suffered  more  that  summer  from  illness  than  ever 
before  in  my  life,  and  yet  to  this  hour  I  cannot  recall  those 
savage  scenes  and  savage  men  without  a  strong  desire  again 
to  visit  them. 

At  length,  for  the  first  time  during  about  half  a  year,  we 
saw  the  roof  of  a  white  man's  dwelling  between  the  open- 
ing trees.  A  few  moments  after  we  were  riding  over  the 
miserable  log  bridge  that  leads  into  the  center  of  Westp'ort 
Westport  had  beheld  strange  scenes,  but  a  rougher  looking 
troop  than  ours,  with  our  worn  equipments  and  broken- 
down  horses,  was  never  seen  even  there.  We  passed  the 
well-remembered  tavern,  Boone's  grocery  and  old  Vogel's 
dram  shop,  and  encamped  on  a  meadow  beyond.  Here  we 


404  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

were  soon  visited  by  a  number  of  people  who  came  to  p 
chase  our  horses  and  equipage.    This  matter  disposed  of, 
hired  a  wagon  and  drove  on  to  Kansas  Landing.     Here 
were  again  received  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  our  < 
friend  Colonel  Chick,  and  seated  under  his  porch  we  lool 
down  once  more  on  the  eddies  of  the  Missouri. 

Deslauriers  made  his  appearance  in  the  morning,  strang 
transformed  by  the  assistance  of  a  hat,  a  coat,  and  a  raz 
His  little  log-house  was  among  the  woods  not  far  off. 
seemed  he  had  meditated  giving  a  ball  on  the  occasion  of 
return,  and  had  consulted   Henry  Chatillon  as  to  whetl 
it  would   do  to  invite  his  bourgeois.     Henry  expressed 
entire   conviction    that   we   would    not    take    it    amiss,    a 
the   invitation   was   now   proffered   accordingly,   Deslauri 
adding  as  a  special  inducement  that  Antoine  Lajeunesse  v 
to  play  the  fiddle.     We  told  him  we  would  certainly  cor 
but  before  the  evening  arrived  a  steamboat,  which  came  do^ 
from  Fort  Leavenworth,  prevented  our  being  present  at  1 
expected    festivities.      Deslauriers   was   on    the   rock    at   1 
landing  place,  waiting  to  take  leave  of  us. 

"Adieu!  mes  bourgeois;  adieu!  adieu!"  he  cried  out 
the  boat  put  off;  "when  you  go  another  time  to  de  Roc 
Montagnes  I  will  go  with  you;  yes,  I  will  go!" 

He  accompanied  this  patronizing  assurance  by  jumpi 
about,  swinging  his  hat,  and  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 
the  boat  rounded  a  distant  point,  the  last  object  that  met  c 
eyes  was  Deslauriers  still  lifting  his  hat  and  skipping  abc 
the  rock.  We  had  taken  leave  of  Munroe  and  Jim  Gurr 
at  Westport,  and  Henry  Chatillon  went  down  in  the  b( 
with  us. 

The  passage  to  St.  Louis  occupied  eight  days,  duri 
about  a  third  of  which  time  we  were  fast  aground  on  sar 
bars.  We  passed  the  steamer  Amelia  crowded  with  a  roari 
crew  of  disbanded  volunteers,  swearing,  drinking,  gamblir 
and  fighting.  At  length  one  evening  we  reached  the  crowd 


THE  SETTLEMENTS  405 

levee  of  St.  Louis.  Repairing  to  the  Planters*  House,1  we 
caused  diligent  search  to  be  made  for  our  trunks,  which  after 
some  time  were  discovered  stowed  away  in  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  storeroom.  In  the  morning  we  hardly  recognized  each 
other:  a  frock  of  broadcloth  had  supplanted  the  frock  of 
buck-skin ;  well-fitted  pantaloons  took  the  place  of  the  Indian 
leggings,  and  polished  boots  were  substituted  for  the  gaudy 
moccasins. 

After  we  had  been  several  days  at  St.  Louis  we  heard 
news  of  Tete  Rouge.  He  had  contrived  to  reach  Fort 
Leavenworth,  where  he  had  found  the  paymaster  and 
received  his  money.  As  a  boat  was  just  ready  to  start  for 
St.  Louis,  he  went  on  board  and  engaged  his  passage.  This 
done,  he  immediately  got  drunk  on  shore,  and  the  boat  went 
off  without  him.  It  was  some  days  before  another  oppor- 
tunity occurred,  and  meanwhile  the  sutler's  stores  furnished 
him  with  abundant  means  of  keeping  up  his  spirits.  Another 
steamboat  came  at  last,  the  clerk  of  which  happened  to  be 
a  friend  of  his,  and  by  the  advice  of  some  charitable  person 
on  shore  he  persuaded  Tete  Rouge  to  remain  on  board, 
intending  to  detain  him  there  until  the  boat  should  leave  the 
fort.  At  first  Tete  Rouge  was  well  contented  with  this 
arrangement,-  but  on  applying  for  a  dram,  the  bar-keeper,  at 
the  clerk's  instigation,  refused  to  let  him  have  it.  Finding 
them  both  inflexible  in  spite  of  his  entreaties,  he  became 
desperate  and  made  his  escape  from  the  boat.  The  clerk 
found  him  after  a  long  search  in  one  of  the  barracks ;  a  circle 
of  dragoons  stood  contemplating  him  as  he  lay  on  the  floor, 
maudlin  drunk  and  crying  dismally.  With  the  help  of  one 
of  them  the  clerk  pushed  him  on  board,  and  our  informant, 
who  came  down  in  the  same  boat,  declares  that  he  remained 
in  great  despondency  during  the  whole  passage.  As  we  left 
St.  Louis  soon  after  his  arrival,  we  did  not  sec  the  worthless 
good-natured  little  vagabond  again, 

!Then  the  principal  hotel. 


406  THE  OREGON  TRAIL 

On  the  evening  before  our  departure  Henry  Chatill 
came  to  our  rooms  at  the  Planters'  House  to  take  leave 
us.  No  one  who  met  him  in  the  streets  of  St.  Louis  wou 
have  taken  him  for  a  hunter  fresh  from  the  Rocky  Mou 
tains.  He  was  very  neatly  and  simply  dressed  in  a  suit 
dark  cloth;  for  although,  since  his  sixteenth  year,  he  h 
scarcely  been  for  a  month  together  among  the  abodes 
men,  he  had  a  native  good  taste  and  a  sense  of  proprie 
which  always  led  him  to  pay  great  attention  to  his  persor 
appearance.  His  tall  athletic  figure,  with  its  easy  flexit 
motions,  appeared  to  advantage  in  his  present  dress;  and  1 
fine  face,  though  roughened  by  a  thousand  storms,  was  n 
at  all  out  of  keeping  with  it.  We  took  leave  of  him  wi 
much  regret ;  and  unless  his  changing  features,  as  he  shook 
by  the  hand,  belied  him,  the  feeling  on  his  part  was  no  1< 
than  on  ours.*  Shaw  had  given  him  a  horse  at  Westpo 
My  rifle,  which  he  had  always  been  fond  of  using,  as  it  \\ 
an  excellent  piece,  much  better  than  his  own,  is  now  in  1 
hands,  and  perhaps  at  this  moment  its  sharp  voice  is  startlii 
the  echoes  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  On  the  next  mornii 
we  left  town,  and  after  a  fortnight  of  railroads  and  steal 
boats  we  saw  once  more  the  familiar  features  of  home. 

*I  cannot  take  leave  of  the  reader  without  adding  a  word  of  the  gu 
who  had  served  us  throughout  with  such  zeal  and  fidelity.  Indeed  '. 
services  had  far  surpassed  the  terms  of  his  engagement.  Yet  whoever  h 
been  his  employers,  or  to  whatever  closeness  of  intercourse  they  might  hi 
thought  fit  to  admit  him,  he  would  never  have  changed  the  bearing  of  qu 
respect  which  he  considered  due  to  his  bourgeois.  If  sincerity  and  honor 
boundless  generosity  of  spirit,  a  delicate  regard  to  the  feelings  of  others,  a 
a  nice  perception  of  what  was  due  to  them,  are  the  essential  characterist 
of  a  gentleman,  then  Henry  Chatillon  deserves  the  title.  He  could  not  wr 
his  own  name,  and  he  had  spent  his  life  among  savages.  In  him  sprang 
spontaneously  those  qualities  which  all  the  refinements  of  life,  and  int 
course  with  the  highest  and  best  of  the  better  part  of  mankind,  fail 
awaken  in  the  brutish  nature  of  some  men.  In  spite  of  his  bloody  callii 
Henry  was  always  humane  and  merciful ;  he  was  gentle  as  a  woman,  thou 
braver  than  a  lion.  He  acted  aright  from  the  free  impulses  of  his  large  a 
generous  nature.  A  certain  species  ^of  selfishness  is  essential  to  the  sternn* 
of  spirit  which  bears  down  opposition  and  subjects  the  will  of  others  to 
own.  Henry's  character  was  of  an  opposite  stamp.  His  easy  good-natt 
almost  amounted  to  weakness ;  yet  while  it  unfitted  him  for  any  position 
command,  it  secured  the  esteem  and  good-will  of  all  those  who  were  r 
jealous  of  his  skill  and  reputation. — AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 


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